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INTRODUCTION. 


The Jacobite enthusiasm of the eighteenth century, particularly 
during the rebellion of 1745, afforded a theme, perhaps the finest 
that could be selected for fictitious composition, founded upon real 
or probable incident. This civil war, and its remarkable events, 
were remembered by the existing generation without any degree of 
the bitterness of spirit which seldom fails to attend internal dissen- 
sion. The Highlanders, who formed the principal strength of 
Charles Edward’s army, were an ancient and high-spirited race, 
peculiar in their habits of war and of peace, brave to romance, and 
exhibiting a character turning upon points more adapted to poelry 
than to the prose of real life. Their prince, young, valiant, patient 
of fatigue and despising danger, heading his army on foot in the 
toilsome marches, and defeating a regular force in three-battles— all 
these were circumstances fascinating to the imagination, and might 
well be supposed to seduce young and enthusiastic minds to the 
cause in which they were found united, although wisdom and rea- 
son frowned upon the enterprise. 

The adventurous prince, as is well known, proved to be one of 
those personages who distinguish themselves during some single and 
extraordinarily brilliant period of their lives, like the course of a 
shooting-star, at which men wonder, as well on account of the brief- 
ness as the biilliancy of its splendor. A long trace of darkness 
overshadowed the subsequent life of a man who, in his youth, 
showed himself so capable of great undertakings; and without the 
painful task of tracing his course further, we may say the later pur- 
suits and habits of this unhappy prince are those painfully evincing 
a broken heart, which seeks refuge from its own thoughts in sordid 
enjoyments. 

{Still, however, it was loug ere Charles Edward appeared to be, 
perhaps it was long ere he altogether became, so much degraded 
from his original self; as he enjoyed for a time the luster attending 
the progress and termination of his enterprise. Those who thought 
they discerned in his subsequent conduct an insensibility to the, dis- 
tresses of his followers, coupled with that egotistical attention to 
his own interests which has been often attributed to the Stuart fam- 
ily, and whch is the natural effect of the principles of divine right 
in which they were brought up, were now generally considered as 
dissatisfied and splenetic persons, who, displeased with the issue of 
their adventure, and finding themselves involved in the ruins of a 
falling cause, indulged themselves in undeserved reproaches against, 
llieir leader. Indeed, such censures were by no means frequent among 


4 


INTRODUCTION. 


those of his followers, who, if what was alleged had been just, had 
tiie best right to complain. Far the greater numbei of those unfort- 
unate 'gentlemen suffered with the most dignified patience, and 
were either too proud to take notice of ill treatment on the part of 
their prince, or so prudent as to be aware their complaints would 
meet with little sympathy from the world. It may be added, that 
the greater part of the banished Jacobites, and those of high rank 
and consequence, were not much w T ithin reach of the influence of 
the prince’s character and conduct, whether well regulated or otner- 
wise. 

In the meantime, that great Jacobite conspiracy, of which the in- 
surrection of 1745-6 was but a small part, precipitated into action on 
the failure of a far more general scheme, was resumed and again put 
into motion by the Jacobites of England, whose force had never been 
broken, as they had prudently avoided bringing it into the field. 
The surprising effect which had been produced by small means m 
1745-6 animated their hopes for more important successes, when the 
■whole nonjuring interest of Britain, identified as it then was with 
great part of the landed gentlemen, should come forward to finish 
what had been gallantly attempted by a few Highland chiefs. 

It is probable, indeed, that the Jacobites of the day were incapable 
of considering that the very small scale on which the effort was made 
was in one great measure the cause of its unexpected success. The 
remarkable speed with which the insurgents marched, the singu- 
larly good discipline which they preserved, the union and unanim- 
ity which for some time animated their councils, were all in a con- 
siderable degree produced by the smallness of their numbers. Not- 
withstanding the discomfiture of Charles Edward, the nonjurors of 
the period long continued to nurse unlawful schemes, and to drink 
tieasonable toasts, until age stole upon them. Another generation 
arose who did not share the sentiments which they cherished; and 
at length the sparkles of disaffection, -which had long smoldered, 
but had never been heated enough to burst into actual flame, be- 
came entirely extinguished. But in proportion as the political en 
thusiasm died gradually away among men of ordinary temperament, 
it influenced those of warm imaginations and weak understandings, 
and hence wild schemes were formed, as desperate as they were ad- 
venturous. 

Thus a young Scoltishman of rank is said to have stooped so low 
as to plot the surprisal of St. James’s Palace, and the assassination 
of the royal family. While these ill-digested and desperate conspir- 
acies were agitated among the few Jacobites who still adhered with 
more obstinacy to their purpose, there is no question but that other 
plots might have been brought to an open explosion, had it not. 
suited the policy of Sir Robert Walpole rather to prevent or disable 
the conspirators in their projects than to promulgate the tale of 
danger, which might thus have been believed to be more widely 
diffused than was really the case. 

In one instance alone this very prudential and humane line of 
conduct was depaited from, and the event seemed to confirm the 
policy of the general course. Dr. Archibald Cameron, brother of 
the celebrated Donald Cameron of Lochiel. attainted for the rebell- 
ion of 1745, was found by a party of soldieis lurking with a com 


INTRODUCTION. 


5 


rade in the wilds of Loch Katrine, five or six years after the battle 
of Cullodeu, and was there seized. There were circumstances in 
his case, so far as was made known to the public, which attracted 
much compassion, and gave to the judicial proceedings against him 
an appearance of cold-blooded revenge on the part of Government; 
and the following argument of a zealous Jacobite in his favor was 
received as conclusive by Dr. Johnson, and other persons who 
might pretend to impartiality. Dr. Cameron had never borne arms, 
although engaged in the rebellion, but used his medical skill for the 
service, indifferently, of the wounded of both parties. His return 
to Scotland was ascribed exclusively to family affairs. His behavior 
at the bar was decent, firm, and respectful. His wife threw herself, 
on three different occasions, before George 11., and the members of 
his family, was rudely repulsed lrom their presence, and at length 
placed, it was said, in the same prison with her husband, and con- 
fined with unmanly severity. 

Dr. Cameron was finally executed, with all the severities of the 
law of treason; and his death remains in popular estimation a dark 
blot upon the memory of George II., being almost publicly imputed 
to a mean and personal hatred of Donald Cameron of Lochiel, the 
sufferer’s heroic brother. 

Yet the fact was, that whether the execution of Archibald Cam- 
eron was political or otherwise, it might certainly have been justi- 
fied, had the king’s ministers so pleased, upon reasons of a public 
nature. The unfortunate sufferer had not come to the Highlands 
solely upon his private affairs, as was the general belief; but it was 
not judged prudent by the English Ministry to let it be generally 
known that he came to inquire about a considerable sum of money 
which had been remitted from France to the friends of the exiled 
family. He had also a commission to hold intercourse with the 
well known M’Pherson of Cluny, chief of the clan Vourich, whom 
the Chevalier had lelt behind at his departure from Scotland in 1746, 
and who remained during ten years of proscription and danger, 
skulking from place to place in the Highlands, and maintaining an 
uninterrupted correspondence between Charles and his friends. 
That Dr. Cameron should have held a commission to assist this 
chief in raking together the dispersed embers of disaffection, is in 
itself sufficiently natural, and, considering his political principles, 
in no respect dishonorable to his memory. But neither ought it to 
be imputed to George II. that he suffered the laws to be enforced 
against a person taken in the act of breaking them. When he lost 
his hazardous game, Dr. Cameron only paid the forfeit which he 
must have calculated upon. The ministers, however, thought it 
proper to leave Dr. Cameron’s new schemes in concealment, lest by 
divulging them they had indicated the channel of communication 
which, it is now well known, they possessed to all the plots of 
Charles Edw r ard. But it was equally ill advised and ungenerous to 
sacrifice the character of the king to the policy of the administra- 
tion. Both points might have been gained by sparing the life of 
Dr. Cameron after conviction, and limiting his punishment to per- 
petual exile. Tnese repeated and successive Jacobite plots rose and 
burst like bubbles on a fountain: and one of them, at leasi, the 
Chevalier judged of importance enough to induce him to risk him- 


6 


INTRODUCTION. 


self within the dangerous precincts of the British capital. This 
appears from Dr. King’s Anecdotes of his Own Times: 

“ September , 1750.— I received a note from my Lady Primrose, 
who desired to see me immediately. As soon as 1 waited on her, she 

led me into her dressing-room, and presented me to ” (the 

Chevalier, doubtless). “ If I was surprised to find him there, I was 
still more astonished when he acquainted me with the motives 
which had induced him to hazard a journey to England at this 
juncture. The impatience of his friends who were in exile had 
formed a scheme which was impracticable; but although it had been 
as feasible as they had represented it to him, yet no preparation 
had been made, nor was anything ready to carry it into execution. 
He was soon convinced that he had been deceived; and, therefore, 
after a stay in London of five days ouly, he returned to the place 
from whence he came.” Dr. King was in 1750 a keen Jacobite, as 
ma} r be inferred from the visit made by him to the prince under 
such circumstances, and from his being one of that unfortunate per- 
son’s chosen correspondents. He, as well as other men of sense 
and observation, began to despair of making their fortune in the 
party which they had chosen. It was indeed sufficiently dangerous; 
for, during the short visit just described, one of Dr. King’s servants 
remarked the stranger’s likeness to Prince Charles, whom he recog- 
nized from the common busts. 

The occasion taken for breaking up the Stuart interest we shall 
tell in Dr. King’s own words: “When he (Charles Edward) was in 
Scotland, he had a mistress whose name was Walkinshaw, and 
whose sister was at that time, and is still, housekeeper at Leicester 
House. Some years after he was released from his prison, and con- 
ducted out of France, he sent for this girl, w T ho soon acquiied such 
a dominion over him, that she was acquainted with all his schemes, 
and trusted with his most secret correspondence. As soon as this 
was known in England, all these persons of distinction who were 
attached to him were greatly alarmed: they imagined that this 
wench had been placed in his family by the English ministers; and, 
considering her sister’s situation, they seemed to have some ground 
for their suspicion; wherefore they dispatched a gentleman to Paris, 
where the prince then was, who had instructions to insist that Mrs. 
"Walkinshaw should be removed to a convent for a certain term; 
but her gallant absolutely refused to comply with this demand ; and 
although Mr. M’Namara, the gentleman who was sent to him, who 
has a natural eloquence, and an excellent understanding, urged the 
most cogent reasons, and used all the arts of persuasion, to induce 
him to part with his mistress, and even proceeded so far as to assure 
him, according to his instructions, that an immediate interruption 
of all correspondence with his most powerful friends in England, 
and, in short, that the ruin of his interest, which w T as now r daily in- 
creasing, would be the infallible consequence of his refusal; yet he 
continued inflexible, and all M’Namara’s entreaties and remon- 
strances wmre ineffectual. M’Namaia stayed in Paris some days 
beyond ilie time prescribed him, endeavoring to reason the prince 
into a better temper; but finding him obstinately perverse in his first 
answer, he took his leave with concern and indignation, saying, as 
lie passed out, ‘ What has your family done, sir, thus to draw' down 


INTRODUCTION. 


7 

(he vengeance af Heaven on every branch of it, through so many 
ages?’ It is worthy of remark, that in all the conferences which 
M’Namara had with the prince on this occasion, the latter declared 
that it was not a violent passion, or indeed any particular regard, 
which attached him to Mrs. Walkinshaw, and that he could see her 
removed from him without any concern; but he would not receive 
directions, in respect to his private conduct, from any man alive. 
When M’Namaia returned to London, and reported the prince’s an- 
swer to the gentlemen who had employed him, they were astonished 
and confounded. However, they soon resolved on the measures, 
which they were to pursue for the future, and determined no longer 
to serve a man who could not be persuaded to serve himself, and 
chose rather to endanger the lives of his best and most faithful 
friends, than part with an harlot, whom, as he often declared, lie 
neither loved nor esteemed.” 

From this anecdote, the general truth of which is indubitable, the 
principal fault of Charles Edward’s temper is sufficiently obvious. 
It was a high sense of his own importance, and an obstinate adher- 
ence to what he had once determined on — qualities which, if he had 
succeeded in his bold attempt, gave the nation little room to hope 
that he would have been found free from the love of prerogative 
and desire of arbitrary power, which characterized his unhappy 
grandfather. He gave a notable instance how far this was the lead- 
ing feature of his character, when, for no reasonable cause that can 
be assignetl, he placed his own single will in opposition to the 
necessities of France, which, in order to purchase a peace become 
necessary to the kingdom, was seduced to gratify Britain by pro- 
hibiting" the residence of Charles within any part of the French, 
dominions. It was in vain that France endeavored to lessen the 
disgrace of this step by making the most flattering offers, in hopes 
to induce the prince of himself to anticipate this disagreeable alter- 
native, which, if seriously enforced, as it was likely 10 be, lie had 
no means whatever of resisting, by leaving the kingdom as of his 
own free will. Inspired, however, by the spirit of hereditary ob- 
stinacy, Charles preferred a useless resistance, to a dignified submis- 
sion, and by a series of idle bravadoes, laid the French Court under 
the necessity of arresting their late ally, and sending him to close 
confinement in the Bastile, from which he was afterward sent out 
of the French dominions, much in the manner in which a convict 
is transported to the place of his destination. 

In addition to these repeated instances of a rash and inflexible 
temper, Dr. King also adds faults alleged to belong to the prince’s 
character, of a kind less consonant with his noble birth and high 
pretensions. He is said by this author to have been avaricious, or 
parsimonious at least, to such a degree of meanness, as to fail, even 
when he had ample means, in relieving the sufferers who had lost 
their fortune, and sacrificed all, in his ill-fated attempt.* We must 


* The reproach is thus expressed by Dr. King, who brings the charge :— 1 But 
the most odious part of his character is his love of money, a vice which I do not 
remember to have been imputed by our historians to any of his ancestors, and 
is the certain index of a base and little mind. I know it may be urged in his 
vindication that a prince in exile ought to be an economist. And so he ought; 
but, nevertheless, his purse should be always open as long as there is anything- 


INTRODUCTION. 


receive, however, with some degree of jealousy what is said by Dr. 
King on this subject, recollecting that he had left at least, if he did. 
not desert, the standard of the unfortunate prince, and was not 
therefore a person who was likely to form the fairest estimate of his 
wirtues and faults. We must also remember that it the exiled prince 
gave little, he had but little to give, especially considering how late 
•he nourished the scheme of another expedition to Scotland, for 
which he was long endeavoring to hoard money. 

The case, also, of Charles Edward must be allowed to have been 
a difficult one. He had to satisfy numerous persons, who, having 
lost their all in his cause, had, with that all, seen the extinction of 
hopes which they accounted nearly as good as certainties; some of 
those were perhaps clamorous in their applications, and certainly 
ill pleased with their want of success. Other parts of the Cheva- 
lier’s conduct may have afforded grounds for charging him with 
coldness to the sufferings of his devoted followers. One of these 
was a sentiment which has nothing in it that is generous, but it was 
certainly a principle in which the young prince was trained, and 
which maybe too probably denominated peculiar to his family, edu- 
cated in all the high notions of passive obedience and non-resist- 
ance. If the unhappy prince gave implicit faith to the professions 
of statesmen holding such notions, which is implied by his whole 
conduct, it must have led to the natural, though ungracious infer- 
ence, that the services of a subject could not, to whatever degree of 
ruin they might bring the individual, create a debt against his sov- 
ereign. Such a person could only boast that he had done his duty; 
nor was he entitled to be a claimant for a greater reward than it was 
convenient for the prince to bestow, or to hold his sovereign his 
debtor for losses which he had sustained through his loyalty. To a 
certain extent the Jacobite principles inevitably led to this cold and 
egotistical mode of reasoning on the part of the sovereign; nor, with 
all our natural pity for the situation of royalty in distress, do we 
feel entitled to affirm that Charles did not use this opiate to his feel- 
ings, on viewing the misery of his followers, while he certainly pos- 
sessed, though in no great degree, the means of affording them more 
relief than he practiced. His own history, after leaving France, is 
brief and melancholy. For a time he seems to have held the firm 
belief Ikat Providence, which had borne him through so many haz- 
ards, still reserved him for some distant occasion, in which he 
should be empowered to vindicate the honors of his birth. But op- 
portunity after opportunity slipped by unimproved, and the death 
of his father gave him the fatal proof that none of the principal 
powers of Europe were, after that event, likely to interest them- 
selves in his quarrel. They refused to acknowledge him under the 
title of the King of England, and, on his part, he declined to be 
then recognized as the Prince of Wales. 


in it, to relieve the necessities of his friends and adherents. King Charles II., 
during his banishment, would have shared the last pistole in his pocket with his 
little family. But I have known this gentleman, with two thousand louis d’ors 
in his strong box, pretend he was in great distress, and borrow money from a 
lady in Paris who was not in affluent circumstances. His most faithful serv- 
ants, who had closely attended him in all his difficulties, were ill rewarded.”— 
King’s Memoirs. 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


Family discord came to add its stinc: to those of disappointed am- 
bition; and though a humiliating circumstance, it is generally ac- 
knowledged that Charles Edward, the adventurous, the gallant, and 
the handsome, the leader of a race of pristine valor, whose romantic 
qualities may he said to have died along with liim, had in his latter 
days yielded to those humiliating habits of intoxication, in which 
the meanest mortals seek to drown the recollection of their disap- 
pointments and miseries. Under such circumstances, the unhappy 
prince lost the friendship of even those faithful followers W’ho had 
most devoted themselves to his misfortunes, and was surrounded, 
with some honorable exceptions, by men of a lower description, re- 
gardless of the character which he was himself no longer able to- 
protect. 

It is a fact consistent with the author’s knowledge, that persons 
totally unentitled to, and unfitted for, such a distinction, were pre- 
sented to the unfortunate prince in moments unfit for presentation 
of any Kind. Amid these clouds was at length extinguished the 
torch which once shook itself over Britain with such terrific glare, 
and at last sunk in its own ashes, scarce remembered and scarce 
noted. 

Meantime, while the life of Charles Edward was gradually wast- 
ing in disappointed solitude, the number of those who had shared 
his misfortunes and dangers had shrunk into a small handful of 
veterans, the heroes of a tale which had been told. Most Scottish 
readers who can count the number of sixty years, must recollect 
many respected acquaintances of their youth who, as the established 
phrase gently worded it, had been ” out in the Forty-five.” It may 
be said, that their political principles and plans no longer either 
gained proselytes or attracted terror— those who held them had 
ceased to be the subjects either of fear or opposition. Jacobites 
were looked upon in society as men who had proved their sincerity 
by sacrificing their interests to their principles; and in well-regu- 
lated companies it was held a piece of ill breeding to injure their 
feelings or ridicule the compromises by which they endeavored to 
keep themselves abreast of the current of the day* Such, for ex- 
ample, was the evasion of a gentleman of fortune in Perthshire, 
who, on having the newspapers read to him, caused the king and 
queen to be designated by the initial letters of K. and Q., as if by 
naming the full word he might imply an acquiescence in the usurpa- 
tion of the family of Hanover. George 111. , having heard of this 
gentleman’s custom in the above and other particulars, commis- 
sioned the member for Perthshire to carry his compliments to the 
steady Jacobite—” That is,” said the excellent old king, “ not the 
compliments of the King of England, but those of the Elector of 
Hanover, and tell him how much 1 respect him for the steadiness 
of his principles.” 

Those who remember such old men will probably agree that the 
progress of time, which has withdrawn all of them from the field, 
has removed, at the same time, a peculiar and striking feature of 
ancient manners. Their love of past times, their tales of bloody 
battles fought against romantic odds, were all dear to the imagina- 
tion, and their idolatry of locks of hair, pictures, rings, ribbons, 
and other memorials of the time in which they still seemed to live. 


10 


INTRODUCTION - . 


was an interesting enthusiasm; and although their political princi- 
ples, had they existed in the relation of lathers, might have ren- 
dered them dangerous to the existing dynasty, yet, as we dow recol- 
lect them, there could not be on the earth supposed to exist persons 
better qualified to sustain the capacity of innocuous and respectable 
grandsires. 

It was while reflecting on these things that the novel of Redgaunt- 
let was undertaken. But various circumstances in the composition in- 
duced the author to alter its purport considerably as it passed thiough 
his hands, and to carry the action to that point of time when Hie 
Chevalier Charles Edward, though fallen into the sere and yellow 
leaf, was yet meditating a second attempt, which could scarcely have 
been more hopeless than his first; although one to W'hich, as we 
have seen, the unfortunate prince, at least as late as seventeen hun- 
dred and fifty- three, still looked with hope and expectation.* - 


* Criticism on Redgauntlet. 

[“ The introduction into this novel of the adventurous hero of 1745 was a rash 
experiment, and can not fail to suggest many disagreeable and disadvantagous 
comparisons; yet, had there been no ‘ Waverley,’ I am persuaded the fallen and 
faded Ascanius of Redgauntlet would have been universally pronounced a mas- 
terpiece. About the secondary personages there could be little ground for con- 
troversy. What novel or drama has surpassed the grotesquely ludicrous, 
dashed with the profound pathos, of Peter Peebles— the most tragic of farces— 
or the still sadder merriment of that human shipwreck, Nantie Ewart?— or Wan- 
dering Willie and his Tale?— the wildest and most rueful of dreams, told by such 
a person, and in such a dialect! With posterity assuredly this novel will yield 
in interest to none of the series ; for it contains perhaps more of the Author’s 
personal experiences (see Note 1) than any other of them.”— J. G. Lockhart. 

1st April , 1835. 


REDGAUNTLET 


LETTER I. 

DARSIE LATIMER TO ALAN FAIRFORD.* 

Dumfries. 

Cur me exanimas querelis tuis? In plain English, Why do you 
deaten me with your croaking? The disconsolate tone in which 
you bade me farewell at Noble House , \ and mounted your miser- 
able hack to return to your law drudgery, still sounds in my ears. 
It seemed to say, “ Happy dog! you can ramble at pleasure over 
hill and dale, pursue every object of curiosity that presents itself, and 
relinquish the chase when it loses interest; while 1, your senior and 
your better, must, in this brilliant season, return to my narrow 
chamber, and my musty books.” 

Such was the import of the reflections with which you saddened 
our parting bottle of claret, and thus 1 must needs* interpret the 
terms of your melancholy adieu. 

And why should this be so, Alan? Why the deuce should you 
not be sitting precisely opposite to me at this moment, in the same 
comfortable George Inn; thy heels on the fender, and thy juridical 
brow expanding its plications as a pun rose in your fancy? Above 
all, why, when 1 fill this very glass of wine, can not 1 push the bottle - 
to you, and say, “ Fairford, you are chased!” Why, 1 say, should 
not all this be, except because Alan Fairford has not the same true 
sense of friendship as Darsie Latimer, and will not regard our purses 
as common, as well as oui sentiments? 


* [This scene would almost appear to have been founded on an incident in the 
Author’s own experience, and which is referred to in the following passage 
from a letter addressed to him about 1790 by an intimate friend: u Your 
Quixotism, dear Walter, was highly characteristic. From the description of 
the blooming fair, as she appeared when she lowered her manteau vert , I am 
hopeful you have not dropt the acquaintance. At least I am certain some of 
our more rakish friends would have been glad enough of such an introduction. 1 ' 
In referring to this letter, Mr. Lockhart says, “ Scott’s friends discovered that 
he had, from almost the dawn of the passions, cherished a secret attachment,, 
which continued, through all the most perilous stage of life, to act as a ro- 
mantic charm in safeguard of virtue. This was the early and innocent affec- 
tion, however he may have disguised the story, to which we owe the tepderest 
pages of Redgauntlet, and where the heroine has certain distinctive features, 
drawn from one and the same haunting dream of his manly adolescence.” 

Mr. Lockhart also states that he has no sort of doubt that Scott’s friend, 
William Clerk, of Eldin, was in the main the prototype of Darsie Latimer , 
while the Author himself unquestionably sat for his own picture in young 
Alan Fairford .] 

t The first stage on the road from Edinburgh to Dumfries via Moffat. ' 

( 11 ) 


12 


REDGAUNTLET. 


1 am alone in the world; my only guardian writes to me of a 
large fortune, which will be mine when 1 reach the age ot twenty- 
five complete; my present income is. thou knowest, more than suffi- 
cient for all m}' wants; and yet thou — traitor as thou art to the 
cause of friendship— dost deprive me of the pleasure of thy society, 
and submittest, besides, to self-denial on thine own part, rather than 
my wanderings should cost me a few guineas more! Is this regard 
for my purse, or for thine own pride? Is it not equally absurd and 
unreasonable, whichever source it springs from? For myself, I tell 
thee, 1 have, and shall have, more than enough for both. This same 
methodical Samuel Griffiths, of Ironmonger Lane, Guildhall, Lon- 
don, whose letter arrives as duly as quarter-day, has sent me, as 1 
told thee, double allowance for this my twenty-first birthday, and an 
assurance, in his brief fashion, that it will be again doubled for the 
succeeding years, until I enter into possession of my own property. 
Still 1 am to refrain from visiting England until my twenty-fifth 
year expires; and it is recommended that I shall forbear all inquiries 
concerning my family, and so forth, for the present. 

Were it not that I recollect my poor mother in her deep widow’s 
weeds, with a countenance that never smiled but when she looked 
on me — and then, in such wan and woful sort, as the sun when he 
glances through an April cloud— were it not, L say, that her mild 
and matron-like form and countenance forbid such a suspicion, I 
might think myself the son of some Indian director, or rich citizen, 
who had more wealth than grace, and a handful of hypocrisy to 
boot, and who was breeding up privately, and obscurely enriching, 
one of whose existence he had some reason to be ashamed. But, 
as 1 said before, 1 think on my mother, and am convinced, as much 
as of the existence of my own soul, that no touch of shame could 
arise from aught in which she was implicated. Meantime, I am 
wealthy, and i am alone, and why does my friend scruple to share 
my wealth? 

Are you not my only friend? and have you not acquired a right 
to share my wealth? Answer me that, Alan Fair ford. When 1 
was brought from the solitude of my mother’s dwelling into the 
tumult of the Gytes’ Claes* at the High School — when 1 was mocked 
for my English accent —salted with snow as a Southern— rolled in 
the gutter tor a Saxon pock-pudding— who, with stout arguments 
and stouter blows, stood forth my defender? — why, Alan Fairtord. 
Who beat me soundly when 1 brought the arrogance of an only son, 
and of course a spoiled urchin, to the forms ot the little republic? — 
why, Alan. And who taught me to smoke a cobbler, pin a losen u 
head a bicker, and hold the bannets?f— Alan, once more. If 1 be- 
came the pride of the Yards, aud the dread of the hucksters in the 
High School Wynd, it was under thy patronage; and, but for thee, 
I had been contented with humbly passiug through theCowgate Port, 
without climbing over the top of it, and had never seen the Kittle 


* [Gyte, Scottice for a child or brat.] 

t Break a window, head a skirmish with stones, and hold the bonnet, or 
handkerchief, which used to divide High School boys when fighting. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


13 


mnesteps * neaier thau from Bareford’s Parks. You taught me to 
keep my fingers off the weak, and to clinch my fist against the strong 
—to carry no tales out of school— to stand forth like a true man — 
obey the stern order of a Pancle manum, and endure my pawmies 
without wincing, like one that is determined not to be the better for 
them. In a word, before 1 knew thee, I Knew nothing. 

At College it was the same. When 1 was incorrigibly idle, your 
example and encouragement roused me to mental exertion, and 
showed me the way to intellectual enjoyment. You made me an 
historian, a metaphysician ( inviia Minerva)— nay, by Heaven! you 
had almost made an advocate of me, as well as of yourself. Yes, 
rather than part with you, Alan, 1 attended a weary season at the 
Scotch Law Class; a wearier at the Civil; and with what excellent 
advantage, my note-book filled with caricatures of the professors 
and my fellow-students, is it not yet extant to testify? 

“ Thus far have I held on with thee untired ; 11 

and, to say truth, purely and solely that 1 might travel the same 
road with thee. But it will not do, Alan. By my faith, man, I 
could as soon think of being one of those ingenious traders who cheat 
little Master Jackies on the outside of the partition with tops, balls, 
bats, and battledoors, as a member of the long- robed fraternity 
within, who impose on grown country gentlemen with bouncing 
brocards of law.f How, don’t you read this to your worthy 
lather, Alan — he loves me well enough, 1 know, of a Saturday night; 
but he thinks me but idle company for any other day of the week. 
And here, I suspect, lies your real objection to taking a ramble with 
me through the southern counties in this delicious weather. 1 know 
the good gentleman has hard thoughts of me tor being so unsettled 
as to leave Edinburgh before the Session rises; perhaps, too, he 
quarrels a little— i will not say, with my want of ancestry, but With 
my want of connections. He reckons me a lone thing in this world, 
Alan, and so, in good truth, 1 am; and it seems a reason to him 
why you should not attach yourself to me, that 1 can claim no in- 
terest in the general herd. 

Do not suppose 1 forget what 1 owe him, for permitting me to 

* A pass on the very brink of the Castle rock to the north, by which it is just 
possible for a goat, or a high-school boy, to turn the corner of the building 
where it rises from the edge of the precipice. This was so favorite a feat with 
the “ hell and neck boys 11 of the higher classes, that at one time sentinels were 
posted to prevent its repetition. One of the nine steps was rendered more 
secure because the climber could take hold of the root of a nettle, so precari- 
ous were the means of passing this celebrated spot. The manning the Cowgate 
Port, especially in snowball time, was also a choice amusement, as it offered 
an inaccessible station for the boys who used these missiles to the annoyance 
of the passengers. The gateway is now demolished; and probably most of its 
garrison lie as low as the fortress. To recollect that the Author himself, how- 
ever naturally disqualified, was one of those juvenile dreadnaughts, is a sad re- 
flection to one who can not now step over a brook without assistance. 

t The Hall of the Parliament House of Edinburgh was, in former days, 
divided into two unequal portions by a partition, the inner side of which was 
consecrated to the use of the Courts of Justice and the gentlemen of the law; 
while the outer division was occupied by the stalls of stationers, toymen, and 
the like, as in a modern bazaar. From the old play of The Plain Dealer . it 
seems such was formerly the case with Westminster Hall. Minos has now 
purified his courts in both cities from all traffic but his own. 


u 


KEPGAUNTLET. 


shelter for tour years under his roof: my obligations to him are not 
the less, but the greater, if he never heartily loved me. He is angry, 
too, that 1 will not, or can not, be a lawyer, and, with reference to 
you, considers my disinclination that way as pessimi ex-empli, as he 
might say. 

But he need not be afraid that a lad of your steadiness will be 
influenced by such a reed shaken by the winds as I am. You will 
go on doubting with Dirleton, and resolving those doubts with 
Stewart,* until the cramp speechf has been spoken more solito from the 
corner of the bench, and with covered head — until you have sworn 
to defend the liberties and privileges of the College of Justice— until 
the black gown is hung on your shoulders, and you are free as any 
of the Faculty to sue or defend. Then l will step forth, Alan, and 
in a character which even your father will allow may be more use- 
ful to you than had 1 shared this splendid termination of your legal 
studies. In a word, if I can not be a counsel, I am determined to 
be a client, a sort of person without whom a lawsuit would be as 
dull as a supposed case. Yes, I am determined to give you your 
first fee. One can easily, I am assured, get into a lawsuit — it is 
only the getting out which is sometimes found troublesome; — and, 
with your kind father for an agent and you for my counsel learned 
in the law, and the worshipful Master Samuel Griffiths to back: me, 
a few sessions shall not tire my patience. In short, 1 will make my 
way into Court, even it it should cost me the committing a delict , 
or at least a quasi delict. You see all is not lost of what Erskine 
wrote, and "Wallace taught. 

Thus far I have fooled it off well enough; and yet, Alan, all is 
not at ease within me. 1 am affected with a sense of loneliness, the 
more depressing, that it seems to me to be a solitude peculiarly my 
own. In a country where all the world have a circle of consanguin- 
ity, extending to six cousins at least, I am a solitary individual, 
having only one kind heart to throb in unison with my own. If I 
were condemned to labor for my bread, methinks 1 should less re- 
gard this peculiar species of deprivation. The necessary communi- 
cation of master and servant would be at least a tie which would 
attach me to the rest of my kind— as it is, mj r very independence 
seems to enhance the peculiarity of my situation. I am in the 
world as a stranger in the crowded coffee-house, where he enters, 
calls for what refreshment he wants, pays his bill, and is forgotten 
so soon as the waiter’s mouth has pronounced his “ Thank ye, sir.” 


* “ Sir John Nisbett’s Dirleton’s Doubts and Questions upon the Law, espe- 
cially of Scotland;” and “ Sir James Stewart’s Dirleton’s Doubts and Questions 
on the Law of Scotland, Resolved and Answered,” are works of authority in 
Scottish iu ’isprudence. As is generally the case, the doubts are held more in 
respect than the solution. 

t Till of late years, every advocate who entered at the Scottish bar made a 
Latin address to the Court, faculty, and audience, in set terms, and said a few 
words upon a text of the civil law, to show his Latinity and jurisprudence. He 
also wore his hat for a minute, in order to vindicate his right of being covered 
before the Court, which is said to have originated from the celebrated lawyer. 
Sir Thomas Hope, having two sons on the bench while he himself remained at 
the bar. Of late this ceremony has been dispensed with, as occupying the 
time of the Court unnecessarily. The entrant lawyer merely takes the oaths to 
Government, and swears to maintain the rules and privileges of his order. 


REDGAUXTLET. 


15 


1 know your good father would term this sinning my mercies * 
and ask how 1 should feel if, instead of beinc able to throw uown 
my reckoning, 1 were obliged to deprecate Ihe resentment of the 
landlord for consuming that which 1 could not pay for. 1 can not 
tell how it is; but, though this very reasonable reflection comes 
across me, and though 1 do confess that four hundred a year in 
possession, eight hundred in near prospect, and the Lord only 
knows how many hundreds more in the distance, are very pretty 
and comfortable things, yet 1 would freely give one half of them to 
call your father father , though he should scold me for my idleness 
every hour of the day, and to call you brother, though a brother 
whose merits would throw my own so completely into the shade. 

The faint, yet not improbable belief has often come across me, 
that your lather knows something more about my birth and condi- 
tion than he is willing to communicate; it is so unlikely that 1 
should be left in Edinburgh at six years old, without any other 
recommendation than the regular payment of my board to old 

M f of the High School. Before that time, as 1 have often told 

you, I have but a recollectiou of unbounded indulgence on my 
mother’s part, and the most tyrannical exertion of caprice on my 
own. L remember still how bitterly she sighed, how vainly she 
strove to soothe me, while, in the full energy of despotism, 1 roared 
like ten bull-calves for something which it was impossible to pro- 
cure for me. She is dead, that kind, that ill-rewarded mother! 1 
remember the long faces — the darkened rooms — the black hangings 
— the mysterious impression made upou my mind by the hearse and 
mourning coaches, and the difficulty which 1 had to reconcile all 
this to the disappearance of my mother. I do not think I had be^ 
fore this event formed any idea of death, or that 1 had even heard 
of that final consummation of all that lives. The first acquaintance 
which I formed with it deprived me of my only relation. 

A clergyman of venerable appearance, our only visitor, was my 
guide and companion in a journey of considerable length; and in 
the charge of another elderly man, substituted in his place, I know 
not how or why, I completed my journey to Scotland — and this is 
.allT recollect. 

1 repeat the little history now, as 1 have a hundred times before, 
merely because 1 would wring some sense out of it. Turn, then, 
thy sharp, wire drawing, lawyer-like ingenuity to the same task- 
make up my history as though thou were shaping the blundering 
allegations of some blue- bonneted, hard-headed client into a con- 
descendence of facts and circumstances, and thou shalt be, not my 
Apollo — quid tibi cum lyraf — but my Lord Stair Meanwhile, 1 
have written myself out of my melancholy and blue devils, merely 
by prosing about them; so I will now converse half an hour with 


* A peculiar Scottish phrase expressive of ingratitude for the favors of Provi- 
dence. 

t Probably Matheson, the predecessor of Dr. Adam, to whose memory the 
Author and his contemporaries owe a deep debt of gratitude. [Alexander 
Matheson was rector of the Edinburgh High School from 1759 to 1768, and was 
succeeded by Dr. Alexander Adam, who survived till 1809.] 

X Celebrated as a Scottish lawyer. 


16 


RED GAUNTLET. 


Roan Robin in his stall — the rascal knows me already, and snickers* 
whenever I cross the threshold ot the stable. 

The black which you bestrode yesterday morning promises to be 
an admirable roadster, and ambled as easily with Sam and the port- 
manteau, as with you and your load of law-learning. Sam promises 
to be steady, and has hitherto been so. No long trial, you will say. 
He lays the blame of former inaccuracies on evil company— the peo- 
ple who were at the livery-stable were too seductive, 1 suppose— he 
denies he ever did the horse injustice— would rather have wanted 
his own dinner, he says. In this 1 believe him, as Roan Robin’s 
ribs and coat show no marks of contradiction. However, as he will 
meet with no saints in the inns we frequent, and as oats are some- 
times as speedily converted into ale as John Barleycorn himself, 1 
shall keep a lookout after Master Sanl. Stupid fellow! had he not 
abused my good nature, I might have chatted to him to keep my 
tongue in exercise; whereas now, 1 must keep him at a distance. 

Do you remember what Mr. Fairf ord said to me on this subject — 
it did not become my father’s son to speak in that manner to Sam's 
father’s son? 1 asked you what your father could possibly know 
of mine; and you answered, 4 4 As much, you supposed, as he knew 
of Sam— it was a proverbial expression.” This did not quite satisfy 
me, though 1 am sure 1 can not tell why it should not. But I am 
returning to a fruitless and exhausted subject. Do not be afraid 
that 1 shall come back on this well-trodden yet pathless field of 
conjecture. 1 know nothing so useless, so utterly feeble and con- 
temptible, as the groaning forth one’s helpless lamentations into the 
ears of our friends. 

1 would tain promise you that my letters shall be as entertaining as 
1 am determined they shall be regular and well filled. AVe have an 
advantage over the dear friends of old, every pair ot them. Neither 
David and Jonathan, nor Orestes and Pylades, nor Damon and 
Pythias— although, in the latter case particularly, a letter by post 
would have been very acceptable— ever corresponded together; for 
they probably could not write, and certainly had neither post nor 
franks to speed their effusions to each other; whereas yours, which 
you had from the old peer, being handled gently, and opened with 
precaution, may be returned to me again, and serve to make us free 
of his Majesty’s post-office, during the whole time of my proposed 
tour.* Mercy upon us, Alan! what letters 1 shall have to send to 
you, with an account of all that 1 can collect of pleasant or rare, in 
this wild-goose jaunt of mine! All 1 stipulate is, that you do not 
communicate them to the “ Scots Magazine;” for though you used, 
in a left-handed way, to compliment me on my attainments in the 
lighter branches of literature, at the expense of my deficiency in 
the weightier matters of the law, 1 am not yet audacious enough to 


* It is well known and remembered, that when Members of Parliament en- 
joyed the unlimited privilege of franldng by the mere writing the name on the 
cover, it was extended to the most extraordinary occasions. One noble lord 
to express his regard for a particular regiment, franked a letter for every rank 
and file. It was customary also to save the covers and return them, in order 
that the correspondence might be carried on as long as the envelopes could 
hold together. 


REDGAUNTLET. 1? 

enter the portal which the learned Ruddiman* so Kindly opened for 
the acolytes of the Muses. Vale, sismemor mei. D. L. 

P.S.-V Direct to the post-office here. 1 shall leave orders to for- 
ward your letters wherever I may travel. 


LETTER II. 

ALAN FAIRFOLD TO DARSIE LATIMER. 

INegatur, my dear Darsie— you have logic and law enough to 
understand the word of denial. I deny your conclusion. " The 
premises, 1 admit, namely, that when 1 mounted on that infernal 
hack 1 might utter what seemed a sigh, although 1 deemed it lost 
amid the puffs and groans of the broken- winded brute, matchless in 
the complication of her complaints by any save she, the poor man’s 
mare, renowned in song, that died 

“ A mile aboon Dundee.” + 

But credit me, Darsie, the sigh which escaped me concerned thee 
more than myself, and regarded neither the superior mettle of your 
cavalry, nor your greater command of the means of traveling. 1 
could certainly have cheerfully ridden on with you for a few days; 
and assure yourself 1 would not have hesitated to tax your better 
filled purse for our joint expenses. But you know my father con- 
siders every moment taken from the law a*s a step down hill; and I 
owe much to his anxiety on my account, although its effects are 
sometimes troublesome. For example: 

I found, on my arrival at the shop in Brown Square, that the old 
gentleman had returned that very evening, impatient, it seems, of 
remaining a night out of the guardianship of the domestic Lares. 
Having this information from James, whose brow wore rather aD 
anxious look on the occasion, 1 dispatched a Highland chairman to 
the livery-stable with my Bucephalus, and slunk, with as little noise 
as might be, into my own den, where I began to mumble certain 
half-gnawed and not half-digested doctrines of our municipal code. 
1 was not long seated, when my father’s visage was thrust, in a 
peering sort of way, through the half-opened door; and withdrawn, 
on seeing my occupation, with a half-articulated humph! which 
seemed to convey a doubt of the seriousness of my application. If 
it were so, 1 can not condemn him; for recollection of thee occupied 


* [The “ Scots Magazine,” commenced in 1739, was really not connected with 
the Ruddimans. Walter Ruddiman, junior, nephew of Thomas the Gramma- 
rian, who died in 1767, started an opposition periodical in 1768, called ” The 
Weekly Magazine; or, Edinburgh Amusement.” It was carried on till 1784.] 

t Alluding, as all Scotsmen know, to the humorous old song: 

“ The auld man’s mare’s dead, 

The puir man’s mare’s dead, 

The auld man’s mare’s dead, 

A mile aboon Dundee.” 

[Both the words and air of this popular song are attributed to Patie Birnie, 
the famous fiddler of Kinghorn, celebrated by Allan Ramsay.— See Johnson’s 
Scots Musical Museum.] 


18 


REDGAUNTLET. 


me so entirely during an hour's reading, that although Stair lay be- 
tore me,* and notwithstanding that I turned over three or four 
pages, the sense of his lordship’s clear and perspicuous style so tar 
escaped me, that I had the mortification to find my labor was utter- 
ly in vain. 

Ere 1 had brought up my lee- way, James appeared with his sum- 
mons to our frugal supper — radishes, cheese, and a bottle of the old 
ale — only two plates though— and no chair set for Mr. Darsie, by 
the attentive James Wilkinson. Said James, with his long lace, 
lank hair, and very long pigtail in its leathern strap, was placed, as 
usual, at the back ot my father’s chair, upright as a wooden sentinel 
at the door ot a puppet-show. “ You may go down, James,” said 
my father; and exit Wilkinson. What is to come next? thought 1; 
for the weather is not clear on the paternal brow. 

My boots encountered his first glance of displeasure, and he asked 
me, with a sneer, which way 1 had been rid'ng. He expected me to 
answer, “Nowhere,” and would then have been at me with his 
usual sarcasm, touching the humor ot walking in shoes at twenty 
shillings a pair. But 1 answered with composure that I had ridden 
out to dinner as far as Noble House. He started (you know his 
way) as if 1 had said that I had dined at Jericho; and as I did not 
ohoose to seem to observe his surprise, but continued munching my 
radishes in tranquillity, he broke forth in ire: 

“ To Noble House, sir! and what had you to do at Noble House, 
sir? JDo you remember you are studying law, sir?— that your Scots 
law trials are coming on, sir? — that every moment of your time just 
now is worth hours at another time — and have you leisure to go to 
Noble House, sir, and to throw your books behind you for so 
many hours? Had it been a turn in the Meadows, or even a game 
at golf —but Noble House, sir!” 

“ 1 went so far with Darsie Latimer, sir, to see him begin his 
journey.” 

“Darsie Latimer?” he replied in a softened tone. “Humph! 
Well, L do not blame you for being kind to Darsie Latimer; but it 
would have done as much good it you had walked with him as far 
as the toll-bar, and then made your farewells— it would have saved 
horse-hire— and your reckoning, too, at dinner.” 

“ Latimer paid that, sir,” I replied, thinking to soften the matter; 
but l had much better have left it unspoken. 

“ The reckoning, sir?” replied my father. “ And did you 
sponge upon any man for a reckoning? Sir, no man should enter 
the door ot a public house without paying his lawing.” 

“ I admit the general rule, sir,” 1 replied; “ but this was a part- 
ing cup between Darsie and me; and 1 should conceive it fell under 
the exception ot Dock an dorroch .” 

“ ^" ou think yourself a wit,” said my father, with as near an ap- 
proach to a smile as ever he permits to gild the solemnity of his 
features; “ but 1 reckon you did not eat your dinner standing, like 
the Jews at their Passover? and it was decided in a case before the 
town-bailies of Cupar- Angus, when Luckie Simpson’s cow r had 


* [The Institutions of the Law of Scotland, by 
Stair, Lord President of the Court of Session.] 


Sir James Dalrympie, Viscount 


REDGAUNTLET. 


19 


drank up Luckie Jamieson’s browst of ale, while it stood in the 
door to cool, that there was no damage to pay, because the crummie 
diank without sitting down; such being the very circumstance con- 
stituting Dock an dorroch, which is a standing drink, for which no 
reckoning is paid. Ha, sir! what says your advocateship {fieri) to 
that? Exeeptio firmai regulam. But come, fill your glass, Alan; 

I am not sorry ye have shown this attention to Darsie Latimer, who 
is a good lad, as times go; and having now lived, under my roof 
since he left the school, why, theie is really no great matter in com- 
ing under this small obligation to him.” 

As 1 saw my father’s "scruples were much softened by the con- 
sciousness of his superiority in the legal argument, 1 took care to 
accept my pardon as a matter of grace rather than of justice; and 
only replied, we should feel ourselves duller of an evening now 
that you were absent. 1 will give you my father’s exact words in 
reply, Darsie. You know him so well, that they will not offend 
you; and you are also aware, that there mingles with the good man’s 
preciseness and formality a fund of shrewd observation and prac- 
tical good sense. 

‘‘It is very true,” he said; ‘‘Darsie was a pleasant companion 
—but overwaggish, overwaggisk, Alan, and somewhat scatter- 
brained. By the way, Wilkinson must get our ale bottled in En- 
glish pints now, for a quart bottle is too much, night after night, 
for you and me, without his assistance. But Darsie, as 1 was say- 
ing, is an arch lad, and somewhat light in the upper story — 1 wish 
him well through the world; but he has little solidity, Alan, little 
solidity.” 

1 scorn to desert an absent friend, Darsie, so 1 said for you a little 
more than my conscience warranted; but your defection from your 
legal studies had driven you far to leeward in my father’s good 
opinion. 

“ Unstable as water, he shall not excel,” said my father; “ or, as 
the Vulgate hath it, Efiusa est sicut aqua — non crescet. He goeth 
to dancing-houses, and readetli novels— sat est.” 

1 endeavored to parry these texts by observing, that the dancing- 
houses amounted only to one night at La Pique’s ball — the novels (so 
far as matters of notoriety, Darsie) to an odd volume of Tom Jones. 

“But he danced from night to morning,” replied my father, 
“ and he read the idle trash, which the author should have been 
scourged for, at least twenty times over. It was never out of his 
hand.” 

1 then hinted, that in all probability your fortune was now so 
easy as to dispense with your prosecuting the law any further than 
you had done; and therefore you might think you had some title to 
amuse yourself. This was the least palatable argument of all. 

“If he can not amuse himself with the law,” said my .father, 
snappishly, “ it is the worse tor him. It he needs not law to teach 
him to make a fortune, 1 am sure he needs it to teach him how to 
keep one; and it would better become him to be learning this, than 
to be scouring the country lik 3 a landlouper, going he knows not 
where, to see he knows not what, and giving treats at Noble House 
to fools like himself ” (an angry glance at poor me). “ Noble 
House, indeed 1”. he repeated, with elevated voice and sneering tone, 


REDGAUNTLET. 


'20 

as if there were something offensive to him in the name, though 1 
will venture to say that any place in which you had been extrava- 
gant enough to spend five shillings would have stood as deep in his 
reprobation. 

Mindful of your idea, that my father knows more of your real 
situation than bethinks proper to mention, 1 thought 1 would hazard 
a fishing observation. “ 1 did not see,” 1 said, “ how the Scottish 
law would be useful to a young gentleman whose fortune would 
seem to be vested in England.” I really thought my father would 
have beat me. 

“ D’ye mean to come round me, sir, per ambages, as Counselor 
Pest says? What is it to you where Darsie Latimer’s fortune is 
vested, or whether he hath any fortune ay or no? And wliat ill 
would the Scottish law do to him, though he had as much of it as 
either Stair or Bankton, sir? Is not the foundation of our munici- 
pal law the ancient code of the Roman Empire, devised at a time 
when it was so much renowned for its civil polity, sir, and wisdom? 
Go to your bed, sir, after your expedition to Noble House, and see 
that your lamp be burning and your book before you ere the sun 
peeps. Ars longa, vita brevis — were it not a sin to call the divine 
science of the law by the inferior name of art.” 

So my lamp did burn, dear Darsie, the next morning, though the 
owner took the risk of a domiciliary visitation, and lay snug in bed, 
trusting its glimmer might, without further inquiry, be received as 
sufficient evidence of his vigilance. And now, upon this the third 
morning after your departure, things are but little better; for 
though the lamp burns in my den, and Voet on the Pandects* hath 
his wisdom spread open before me, yet as 1 only use him as a read- 
iug-desk on which to scribble this sheet of nonsense to Darsie Lati- 
mer, it is probable the vicinity will be of little furtherance to my 
studies. 

And now, methinks, I hear thee call me an affected hypocritical 
varlet, who, liviug under such a system of distrust and restraint as 
my father chooses to govern by, nevertheless pretends not to envy 
.you your freedom and independence. 

Latimer, I will tell you no lie. 1 wish my father would allow 
me a little ihore exercise of my free will, were it but that I might 
feel the pleasure of doing what would please him of my own accord. 
A little more spare time, and a liitle more money to enjoy it, would, 
besides, neither misbecome my age nor my condition; and it is, 1 
own, provoking to see so many in the same situation winging the 
air of freedom, while 1 sit here, caged up like a cobbler’s linnet, to 
chant the same unvaried lesson from sunrise to sunset, not to 
mention the listening to so many lectuies against idleness, as if 1 
enjoyed or was making use of the means of amusement! But then 
1 can not at heart blame either the motive or the object of this sever- 
ity For the motive, it is and can only be my father’s anxious, de- 
voted and unremitting affection and zeal for my improvement, with 
a laudable sense of the honor of the profession to which he has 
trained me. 

As we have no near relations, the tie betwixt us is of even unusual 

* [See Note to Letter IX.] 


REDGAUNTLET. 


21 


closeness, though in itself one of the strongest which nature can 
form. I am, ancl have all along been, the exclusive object of my 
father’s anxious hopes, and his still more anxious and engrossing 
fears; so what title have lto complain, although now and then these 
fears and hopes lead him to take a troublesome and incessant charge 
of all my motions? Besides, 1 ought to recollect, and Darsie, 1 do 
recollect, that my father, upon various occasions, has shown that he 
can be indulgent as well as strict. The leaving his old apartments in 
the Luckenbooths was to him like divorcing his soul from the body; 

yet Dr. R * did but hint that the better air of thiB new district 

was more favorable to my health, as I was then suffering under the 
penalties of too rapid a growth, when he exchanged his old and be- 
loved quarters, adjacent to the very Heart of Mid Lothian, for one 
of those tenements [entire within themselves] which modern taste 
has so lately introduced. Instance also the inestimable favor which 
he conferred on me by receiving you into his house, when you had 
only the unpleasant alternative of remaining, though a grown-up 
lad, in the society of mere boys.f This was a thing so contrary to 
all my father’s ideas of seclusion, of economy, and of the safety to 
my morals and industry, which lie wished to attain by preserving 
me from the society of other young people, that, upon my word, 1 
am always rather astonished, how 1 should have had the impudence 
to make the request, than that he should have complied with it. 

Then tor the object of his solicitude — do not laugh, or hold up 
your hands, my good Darsie; but, upon my word, I like the profes- 
sion to which 1 am in the course of being educated, and am serious 
in prosecuting the preliminary studies. The law is my vocation — 
in an especial, and, I may say, in an hereditary way, my vocation; 
for although I have not the honor to belong to any of the great 
families who form in Scotland, as in France, the noblesse of the 
robe, and with us, at least, carry their heads as high, or rather 
higher, than the noblesse of the sword — for the former consist more 
frequently of the “ first-born of Egypt yet my grandfather, 
who, 1 dare say, was a most excellent person, had the honor to sign 
a bitter protest against the Union, in the respectable character of 
town-clerk to the ancient borough of Birlthegroat; and there is some 
reason— shall 1 say to hope, or to suspect?— that he may have been 
a natural son of a first cousin of the then Eairford of that Ilk, who 
had been long numbered among the minor barons. Now, my father 
mounted a step higher on the ladder of legal promotion, being, as 
you know as well as 1 do, an eminent and respected Writer to his 
Majesty's Signet; and 1 myself am destined to mount a round 

* [Probably Dr. John Rutherford, the Author’s uncle. He was a professor in 
the University of Edinburgh, and one of the founders of the Medical School. 
Scott’s father removed from near the top of the College Wynd to George’s 
Square, soon after Sir Walter’s birth.] 

t The diminutive and obscure place called Brown’s Square was hailed about 
the time of its erection as an extremely elegant improvement upon the style of 
designing and erecting Edinburgh residences. Each house was, in the phrase 
used by appraisers, “ finished within itself,” or, in the still newer phraseology, 
“ self-contained.” It was built about the year 1763-4; and the old part of the 
city being near and accessible, this square soon received many inhabitants, who 
ventured to remove to so moderate a distance from the High Street. [The 
north side of the square now forms a part of Chambers Street.] 


22 


REDGAUNTLET. 


higher still, and wear the honored rohe which is sometimes supposed, 
like Charity, to cover a multitude of sins. I have, therefore, no 
choice but to climb upward, since we have mounted thus high, or 
else to fall down at the imminent risk of my neck. So that. 1 recon- 
cile myself to my destiny; and while you are looking from 
mountain peaks at distant lakes and firths, 1 am, de apicibus juris, 
consoling myself with visions of crimson and scarlet gowns — with 
the appendages of handsome cowls, well lined with salary. 

You smile, Darsie, more tuo, and seetn to say it is little worth 
while to cozen one’s self with such vulgar dreams; yours being, on 
the contrary, of a high and heroic character, bearing the same re- 
semblance to mine that a bench, covered with purple cloth, and 
plentifully loaded with session papers, does to some Gothic throne, 
rough with barbaric pearl and gold. But what would you have? 
Sua quemque trahit voluptas. And my visions of preferment, 
though they may be as unsubstantial at present, are nevertheless 
more capable of being realized than your aspirations after— the Lord 
knows what. "What says my father’s proverb? “ Look to a gown 
of gold, and you will at least get a sleeve of it.” Such is my pur- 
suit, but what dost thou look to? The chance that the mystery, as 
you call it, which at present overclouds your birth and connections, 
will clear up into something inexpressibly and inconceivably brill- 
iant, and this without any effort or exertion of your own, but 
purely by the good will of Fortune. 1 know the pride and haughti- 
ness of thy heart, and sincerely do 1 wish that thou hadst more beat- 
ings to thank me for than those which thou dost acknowledge so 
gratefully. Then had 1 thumped these quixotical expectations out 
of thee, thou hadst not, as now, conceived thyself to be the hero 
of some romantic history, and converted, in thy vain imaginations, 
honest Griffiths, citizen and broker, who never bestows more than 
the needful upon his quarterly epistles, into some wise Alcander or 
sage Alquife, the mystical and magical protector of thy peerless des- 
tiny. But I know not how it was, thy skull got harder, 1 think, 
and my knuckles became softer; not to mention that at length thou 
didst begin to show about thee a spark of something dangerous, 
which 1 w\as bound to respect at least, if I did not fear it. 

And while 1 speak of this, it is not much amiss to advise thee to 
correct a little this cock-a-hoop courage of thine. I fear much that, 
like a hot-mettled horse, it will carry the owner into some scrape’ 
out of which he will find it difficult to extricate himself, especially 
if the daring spirit which bore thee thither should chance to fail 
thee at a pinch. Remember, Darsie, thou art not naturally cou- 
rageous; on the contrary, we have long since agreed that, quiet as I 
am, I have the advantage in this important particular. My courage 
consists, 1 think, in strength of nerves and constitutional indiffer- 
ence to danger, which, though it never pushes me on adventure, 
secures me in full use of my recollection and tolerably complete 
self-possession when danger actually arrives. Now, thine seems 
more what may be called intellectual courage, highness of spirit, 
and desire of distinction— impulses which rendered thee alive to the 
love of fame and deaf to the apprehension of danger, until it forces 
itself suddenly upon Ihee. I own, that whether it is from my hav- 
ing caught my father’s apprehensions, or that 1 have reason to en- 


REDGAUjSTLET. 


23 


tertain doubts of my own, 1 often think that this wild-fire ehase of 
romantic situation and adventure may lead thee into some mischief; 
and then what would become of Alan Fairford? They might make 
■whom they pleased lord-advocate or solicitor-general. I should 
never have the heart to strive for it. All my exertions are intended 
to vindicate myself one day in your eyes; and 1 think 1 should not 
care a farthing for the embroidered silk gown more than for an old 
woman’s apron, unless 1 had hopes that thou shouldst be walking 
the boards to admire and perhaps to env}^ me. 

Tnat this may be the case, I prithee— beware! See not a Dulcinea 
in every slipshod girl, who, with blue eyes, fair hair, a tattered 
plaid, and a willow-wand in her gripe, drives out the village cows 
to the loaning. Do not think you will meet a gallant Valentine in 
every English rider, or an Orson in every Highland drover. View 
things as they are, and not as they may be magnified through thy 
teeming fancy. 1 have seen thee look at an old gravel-pit till thou 
madest out capes, and bays, and inlets, crags and precipices, and 
the whole stupendous scenery of the Isle of Feroe, in what was, to 
all ordinary eyes, a mere horsepond. Besides, did 1 not once find 
thee gazing with respect at a lizard, in the attitude of one who looks 
upon" a crocodile? Now this is doubtless, so tar, a harmless exer- 
cise of your imagination, for the puddle can not drown you, nor the 
Lilliputian alligator eat you up. But it is different in society, where 
you can not mistake the character of those you converse with, or 
suffer your fancy to exaggerate their qualities, good or bad, with- 
out exposing yourself not only to ridicule, but to great and serious 
inconveniences. Keep guard, therefore, on your imagination, my 
dear Darsie; and let your old friend assure you, it is the point of 
your character most pregnant with peril to its good and- generous 
owner. Adieu ! let not the franks of the w r orthy peer remain un- 
employed; above all, Sis memor mei. 


LETTER ill. 

DARSIE LATIMER TO ALAN FAIRFORD. 

Shepherd’s Bush. 

1 have received thine absurd and most conceited epistle. It is 
well for thee that, Lovelace-and-Beltord-like, w r e came under a con- 
vention to pardon every species of liberty which we may take with 
each other, since, upon my word, there are some reflections in your 
last which would otherwise have obliged me to return forthwith to 
Edinburgh, merely to show I was not what you took me for. 

Why, what a pair of prigs hast thou made of us! 1 plunging into 
scrapes, without having courage to get out of them— thy sagacious 
self, afraid to put one foot before the other lest it should run away 
from its companion, and so standing still like a post, out of mere 
faintness and coldness of heart, wdiile all the world were driving 
full speed past thee. Thou a portrait-painter! I tell thee, Alan, I 
have seen a better Seated on the lourth round of a ladder, and paint- 
ing a bare-breeched Highlander, holding a pint-stoup as big as him- 
self, and a booted Lowlauder, in a bob- wig, supporting a glass of 


24 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


like dimensions; the whole being designed to represent the sign of 
the ISalutation. 

How badst thou the heart to represent thine own individual self, 
with all thy motions, like those of a great Dutch doll, depending 
on the pressure ot certain springs, as duty, reflection, and the like; 
without the impulse of which, thou wouldst doubtless have me be- 
lieve, thou wouldst not budge an inch? But have 1 not seen Grav- 
ity out of his bed at midnight? and must 1, in plain tern)s, remind 
thee of certain mad pranks? Thou hadst ever, with the gravest 
sentiments in thy mouth, and the most starched reserve in thy man- 
ner, a kind of lumbering proclivity toward mischief, although with 
more inclination to set it a-gojng, than address to carry it through; 
and 1 can not but chuckle internally, when 1 think of having seen 
my most venerable monitor, the future president of some Scottish 
court, puffing, bowing, and floundering, like a clumsy carl -horse in 
a bog, where his efforts to extricate himself only plunged him deeper 
at every awkward struggle, till some one— 1 myself for example— 
took compassion on the moaning monster, and dragged him out by 
mane and tail. 

As for me, my portrait is, it possible, even more scandalously 
caricatured. 1 fail or quail in spirit at the upcome! Where canst 
thou show me the least symptom of the recreant temper with which 
thou hast invested me (as 1 trust), merely to set off the stolid and im- 
passable dignity of thine own stupid indifference? If you ever saw 
me tremble^ be assured that my flesh, like that of the old Spanish 
general, only quaked at the dangers into which my spirit was about 
to lead it. Seriously, Alan, this- imputed poverty ot spirit is a 
shaffity charge to bring against your friend. 1 have examined my- 
self as closely as 1 can, being, in very truth, a little hurt at your 
having such hard thoughts ot me, and on my life I can see no rea- 
son tor them. 1 allow you have, perhaps, some advantage in the 
steadiness and indifference ot your temper: but 1 should despise my- 
self if 1 were conscious of the deficiency in courage which you seem 
willing enough to impute to me. However, 1 suppose this ungra- 
cious hint proceed** from sincere anxiety for my safety, and so view- 
ing it, 1 swallow it as 1 would do medicine from a friendly doctor, 
although 1 believed in my heart he had mistaken my complaint. 

This offensive insinuation disposed of, I thank thee, Alan, for the 
rest of thy epistle. 1 thought 1 heard your good father pronouncing 
the word Noble House, with a mixture ot contempt and displeasure, 
as if the veiy name ot the poor little hamlet were odious to him, or 
as if you had selected out of all Scotland the very place at which 
you had no call to dine. But if he had had any particular aversion 
to that blameless village, and very sorry inn, is it not his own fault 
that 1 did not accept the invitation ot the Laird of Glengallaclier, 
to shoot a buck in what he emphatically calls “his countiy”? 
Truth is, 1 had a strong desire to have complied with his lairdsliip’s 
invitation. To shoot a buck! Think how magnificent an idea to 
one who never shot anything but hedge-sparrows, and that with a 
horse-pistol, purchased at a broker’s stand in the Cowgate! You, 
who stand upon your courage, may remember that 1 took the risk 
of tiring the said pistol lor the first lime, while you stood at twenty 
yards’ distance; and that, when you were persuaded it would go off: 


REDGAUNTLET. 


25 


without bursting, forgetting all law but that of the biggest and 
strongest, you possessed yourself of it exclusively for the rest of the 
holidays. Such a day’s sport was no complete introduction to Ihe 
noble art of deer-stalking, as it is practiced in the Highlands; but 1 
should not have scrupled to accept honest Glengallacher’s invitation 
at the risk of firing a rifle lor the first time, had it not been for the 
outcry which your father made at my proposal, in the full ardor of 
his zeal for King George, the Hanover succession, and the Presby- 
terian faith. I wish 1 had stood out, since 1 have gained so little 
upon his good opinion by submission. All his impressions concern- 
ing the Highlanders are taken from the recollections of the Forty- 
five, when he retreated from the West Port with his brother volun- 
teers, each to the fortalice of his own separate dwelling so soon as 
they heard the Adventurer was arrived with his clans as near them 
as Kirkliston. The flight of Falkirk —pavma non bene selecta—m 
which 1 think your sire had his share with the undaunted western 
regiment, does not seem to have improved his taste for the company 
of the Highlanders (quaere, Alan, dost thou derive the courage thou 
makest such boast of from an hereditary source?) — and stories of 
Hob Hoy Macgregor, and Sergeant Alan Mhor Cameron* have served 
to paint them in still more sable colors to his imagination. 

Now, from all I can understand, these ideas, as applied to the 
present state of the country, are absolutely chimerical. The Pre- 
tender is no more remembered in the Highlands than if the poor 
gentleman were gathered to his hundred and eight fathers, whose 
portraits adorn the ancient walls of Holyrood; the broadswords have 
passed into other hands; the targets are used to cover the butter- 
churns; and the race has sunk, or is fast sinking, from ruffling bul- 
lies into tame cheaters. Indeed, it waspaitly my conviction that 
there is little to be seen in the north, which, arriving at your father’s 
conclusions, though from different premises, inclined my course in 
this direction, where perhaps 1 shall see as little. One thing, how- 
ever, 1 have seen ; and it was with pleasure the more indescribable, 
that 1 was debarred from treading the land which my eyes were 
permitted to gaze upon, like those of the dying prophet from the 
top of Mount Pisgah — I have seen, in a word, the fruitful shores ot 
merry England; merry England! of which 1 boast myself a native, 
and on which I gaze, even while raging floods and unstable quick- 
sands divide us, with the filial affection of a dutiful son. 

Thou canst not have forgotten, Alan — or when didst thou ever 
forget what was interesting to thy friend? — that the same letter 
from my friend Griffiths, which doubled my income, and placed my 
motions at my own free disposal, contained a prohibitory clause, by 
which, reasons none assigned, 1 was prohibited, as I respected my 
present safety and future fortunes, from visiting England; every 
other part ot the British dominions, and a tour, if 1 pleased, on the 
continent, being left to my own choice. Where is the tale, Alan, 
of a covered dish in the midst of a royal banquet, upon which the 
eyes of every guest were immediately fixed, neglecting all the 


* Of Rob Roy we have had more than enough. Alan Cameron, commonly 
-called Sei*geant Mhor, a freebooter of the same period, was equally remarka- 
ble for strength, courage, and generosity. 


26 


REDGAUNTLET. 


dainties with which the table was loaded? This cause of banish- 
ment from England— from my native country — from the land of the 
brave, and the wise, and the free — affects me more than L am re- 
joiced by the freedom and independence assigned to me in all other 
respects. Thus, in seeking this extreme boundary of the country 
which 1 am forbidden to tread, 1 resemble the poor tethered horse, 
which, j r ou may have observed, is always grazing on the very verge 
of the circle to which it is limited by its halter. 

Do not accuse me of romance for obeying this impulse toward the 
South; nor suppose that, to satisfy the imaginary longing of an idle 
curiosity, 1 am in any danger or risking the solid comforts of my 
present condition. YVhoever has hitherto taken charge of my mo- 
tions, has shown me, by convincing proofs, more weighty than the 
assurances which they have withheld, that my real advantage is 
their principal object. 1 should be, therefore, worse than a fool did 
1 object to their authority, even when it seems somewhat capricious- 
ly exercised, tor assuredly, at my age, 1 might— intrusted as 1 am 
with the care and management of myself in every other particular 
— expect that the cause of excluding me from England should be 
frankly and fairly stated for my own consideration and guidance. 
However, 1 will not grumble about the matter. 1 shall know the 
whole story one day, JL suppose; and perhaps, as you sometimes 
surmise, I shall not find there is any mighty matter in it after all. 

Yet one can not help wondering— but, plague on it, it 1 wonder 
any longer, my letter will be as full of wonders as one of Katter- 
felto’s advertisements. I have a month’s mind, instead of this 
damnable iteration of guesses and forebodings, to give thee the his- 
tory of a little adventure which befell me yesterday; though 1 am 
sure you will, as usual, turn the opposite side of the spy-glass on 
my poor narrative, and reduce, more tuo, to the most petty triviali- 
ties, the circumstance to which thou accusest me of giving undue 
consequence. Hang thee, Alan, thou art as unfit a confidant tor a 
youthful gallant with some spice of imagination, as the old taciturn 
secretary of Facardin of Trebizond. Nevertheless, we must each 
perform our separate destinies. 1 am doomed to see, act, and tell; 
thou, like a Dutchman inclosed in the same Diligence with a Gas- 
con, to hear, and shrug thy shoulders. 

Of Dumfries, the capital town of this country, L have but little to 
say, and will not abuse your patience by reminding you that it is 
built on the gallant river Nith, and that its church-yard, the highest 
place of the old town, commands an extensive and fine prospect. 
Neither will 1 take the traveler’s privilege of inflicting upon you the 
whole history of Bruce poniarding the Red Comyn in^the Church of 
the Dominicans at this place, and becoming a king and patriot, be- 
cause he had been a church-breaker and a murderer. The present 
Dumtriesers remember and justify the deed, observing it was only a 
papist church — in evidence whereof its walls have been so complete- 
ly demolished that no vestiges of them remain. They are a sturdy 
set of true-blue Presbyterians, these burghers of Dumfries; men 
after your father’s own heart, zealous for the Protestant succession 
— the rather that many of the great families around are suspected to 
be of a different way of thinking, and shared, a great many of them, 
in the insurrection of the Fifteen, and some in the more recent busi- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


27 


ness of the Forty-five. The town itself suffered in the latter era; 
for Lord Elcho, with a large party of the rebels, levied a severe 
contribution upon Dumfries, on account of the citizens having an- 
no.yed the rear of the Chevalier during his march into England. 

Mauy of these particulars 1 learned from Provost C , who, 

happening to see me in the market- place, remembered lhat 1 was an 
intimate of your father, and very kindly asked me to dinner. Pray 
tell your father that the effects of his kindness to me follow me 
everywhere. 1 became tired, however, of this pretty town in the 
course of twenty-tour hours, and crept along the coast eastward, 
amusing myself with looking out for objects of antiquity, and 
sometimes making, or attempting to make, use of my new anglinff- 
rod. By the way, old Cotton’s instructions, by which 1 hoped to 
qualify myself for one of the gentle society of anglers, are not worth 
a farthing for this meridian. 1 learned this by mere accident, after 
1 had waited four mortal hours. 1 shall never forget an impudent 
urchin, a cowherd, about twelve years old. without either brogue or 
bonnet, barelegged, and with a very indifferent pair of breeches— 
how the villain grinned in scorn at my landing-net, my plummet, 
and the gorgeous jury of flies wliick 1 "had assembled to destroy all 
the fish in the river. 1 was induced at last to lend the rod to the 
sneering scoundrel, to see what he would make of it; and he had 
not only half filled my basket in an hour, but literally taught me to 
kill two trouts with my own hand. This, and Sam having found 
the ha 3 r and oats, not forgetting the ale, very good at this small inn, 
first made me take the fancy ot resting here tor a day or two; and 1 
-have got my grinning blackguard of a Piscator leave to attend on 
me, by paying six pence a day for a herdboy in his stead. 

A notably clean Englishwoman keeps this small house, and my 
bedroom is sweetened with lavender, has a clean sash-window, and 
the walls are, moreover, adorned with ballads ot Fair Rosamond 
and Cruel Barbara Allan. The woman’s accent, though uncouth 
enough, sounds yet kindly in my ear; for 1 have never yet forgotten 
the desolate effect produced on my infant organs, when 1 heard on 
all sides your slow and broad northern pronunciation which was to 
me the tone of a foreign land. 1 am sensible I myself have since 
that time acquired Scotch in perfection, and many a Scotticism 
withal. Still the sound of the English accentuation comes to my 
ears as the tones of a friend; and even w’hen heard from the mouth 
of some wandering beggar, it has seldom failed to charm forth my 
mite. You Scotch, who are so proud of } r ou own nationality, must 
make due allowance for that of other folks. 

On the next morning 1 was about to set forth to the stream where 
1 had commenced angler the night before, but was prevented by a 
heavy shower of rain from stirring abroad the whole forenoon; 
during all which time, 1 heard my varlet of a guide as loud with his 
blackguard jokes in the kitchen, as a footman in the shilling gallery; 
— so little are modesty and innocence the inseparable companions of 
rusticity and seclusion. 

When after dinner the day cleared, and we at length sallied out to 
the river side, 1 found myself subjected to a new trick on the part 
of my accomplished preceptor. Apparently, he liked fistiing him- 
self better than the trouble ot instructing an awkward novice, such 


REDGAUNTLET. 


28 

as I; and in hopes of exhausting ray patience, and inducing me to 
resign the rod, as 1 had done the preceding day, my triend contrived 
to keep me thrashing the water more than an hour with a pointless 
hook. 1 detected this trick at last, by observing the rogue grinning 
with delight when he saw a large trout rise and dash harmless away 
from the angle. 1 gave him a sound cull, Alan; 'but the next mo- 
ment was sorry, and, to make amends, yielded possession of the 
fishing-rod for the rest ot the evening, he undertaking to bring me 
home a dish of trout for my supper, in atonement for his offenses. 

Having ihus got honorably rid of the trouble of amusing myself 
in a way 1 cared not for, 1 turned my steps toward the sea, or rather 
the Solway Firth, which here separates the two sister kingdoms, 
and which lay at about a mile’s distance, by a pleasant walk over 
sandy knolls, covered with short herbage, which you call Links, 
and we English, Downs. 

But the rest of my adventure would weary out my fingers, and 
must be deferred until to-morrow, when you shall hear from me, by 
way of continuation; and, in the meanwhile, to prevent overhasty 
conclusions, 1 must just hint to you, we are but yet on the verge 
of the adventure which it is my purpose to communicate. 


LETTER IV. 

THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

Shepherd’s Bush. 

1 mentioned in my last that, having abandoned my fishing-rod 
as an unprofitable implement, 1 crossed over the open downs which 
divided me from the margin of the Solway. When 1 reached the 
banks of the great estuary, which are here very bare and exposed, 
the waters had receded from the large and level space of sand, 
through which a stream, now feeble and fordable, found its way to 
the ocean. The whole was illuminated by the beams ot the low and 
setting sun, who showed his ruddy front, like a warrior prepared 
for defense, over a huge battlemented and turreted wall of crimson 
and black clouds, which appeared like an immense Gothic fortress, 
into which the lord of day was descending. His setting rays glim- 
mered bright upon the wet surface ot the sands, and the numberless 
pools of water by which it was covered, where the inequality of the 
ground had occasioned their being left by the tide. 

The scene was animated by the exertions of a number of horse- 
men, who were actually employed in hunting salmon. Ay, Alan, 
lift up your hands and eyes as you will, 1 can give their mode of 
fishing no name so appropriate; for they chased the fish at full gal- 
lop, and struck them with their barbed spears, as you see hunters 
spearing boars in the old tapestry. The salmon, to be sure, take the 
thing more quietly than the boars; but they are so swift in their 
own element, that to pursue and strike them is the task of a good 
horseman, with a quick eye, a determined hand, and full command 
both of his horse and weapon. The shouts of the fellows as they 
galloped up and down in the animating exercise — their loud bursts 
ot laughter when any of their number caught a fall— and still 


REDGAUNTLET. 


29 


louder acclamations when any ot the party made a capital stroke 
with his lance — gave so much animation to the whole scene, that 1 
caught the enthusiasm of the sport, and ventured forward a con- 
siderable space on the sands. The feats of one horseman, in particu- 
lar, called forth so repeatedly the clamorous applause of his com- 
panions, that the very banks rang again with their shouts. He was 
a tall man, w r ell mounted on a strong black horse, which he caused 
to turn and wind like a bird in the air, carried a longer spear than 
the others, and wore a sort of lur cap or bonnet with a short feather 
in it, which gave him on the whole rather a superior appearance to 
the other fishermen. He seemed to hold some sort of authority 
among them, and occasionally directed their motions both by voice 
and hand; at which times 1 thought his gestures were striking, and 
his voice uncommonly sonorous and commanding. 

The riders began to make for the shore, and the interest of the 
scene was almost over, while 1 lingered on the sands, with my looks 
turned to the shores of England, still gilded by the sun’s last rays, 
and, as it seemed, scarce distant a mile from me. The anxious 
thoughts which haunt me began to muster in my bosom, and my 
feet slowly and insensibly approached the river which divided me 
from the forbidden precincts, though without any formed intention, 
when my steps were arrested by the sound of a horse galloping; and 
as 1 turned the rider (the same fisherman whom 1 had formerly dis- 
tinguished) called out to me, in an abrupt manner, “ Soho, brother! 
you aie too late for Bowness to-night—the tide will make pres- 
ently.” 

1 turned my head and looked at him without answering; for to 
my thinking, his sudden appearance (or rather, I should say, his un- 
expected approach) had, amidst the gathering shadows and lingering 
light, something in it which was wild and ominous. 

“ Are you deaf?” he added — '* or are you mad?— or have you a 
mind for the next world?” 

' “lama stranger,” 1 answered, ” and had no other purpose than 
looking on at the fishing — I am about to return to the side 1 came 
from.” 

“ But make haste then,” said he. ” He that dreams on the bed 
of the Solway may wake in the next world. The sky threatens a 
blast that will bring in the waves three feet abreast.” 

So saying, lie turned his horse and rode oft, while 1 began to walk 
back toward the Scottish shore, a little alarmed at what I had heard; 
for the tide advances with such rapidity upon these fatal sands, that 
well-mounted horsemen lay aside hopes of safety, if they see its 
white surge advancing while they are yet at a distance from the 
bank. 

These recollections grew more agitating, and, instead of walking 
deliberately, 1 began a race as fast as 1 could, feeling, or thinking 
1 felt, each pool of salt water through which 1 splashed, grow deeper 
and deeper. At length the surface of the sand did seem consider- 
ably more intersected with pools and channels full of water— either 
that the tide was really beginning to influence the bed of the estuary, 
or, as I must own is equally probable, that I had, in the huny and 
confusion of my retreat, involved myself in difficulties which 1 had 
avoided in my more deliberate advance. Either way, it was rather 


30 


BEDGAUNTLET. 


an unpromising state of affairs, for the sands at the same time 
turned softer, and my footsteps, so soon as 1 had passed, were in- 
stantly filled with water. I began to have odd recollections con- 
cerning the snugness of your father’s parlor, and the secure footing 
afforded by the pavement of Brown’s Square and Scott's Close, when 
my better genius, the tall fisherman, appeared once more close to 
my side, he and his sable horse looming gigantic in the now darken- 
ing twilight. 

“ Are you mad?” he said, in the same deep tone which had be- 
fore thrilled on my ear, “ or are you Weary of your life? You will 
be presently among the quicksands.” 1 professed my ignorance of 
the way, to which he only replied, “ There is no time for prating— 
get up behind me.” 

He probably expected me to spring from the ground with the 
activity which these Borderers have, by constant practice, acquired 
in everything relating to horsemanship; but as 1 stood irresolute, 
he extended his hand, and grasping mine, bid me place my foot on 
the toe of his boot, and thus raised me in a trice to the croup of his 
horse. I was scarcely securely seated ere he shook the reins of his 
horse who instantly sprung forward; but annoyed doubtless by the 
unusual burden treated us to two or three bounds accompanied by 
as many flourishes of hi3 hind heels. The rider sat like a tower, 
notwithstanding that, the unexpected plunging of the animal threw 
me forward upon him. The horse was soon compelled to submit 
to the discipline of the spur and bi idle and went oft at a steady hand 
gallop; thus shortening the devious, for it "was by no means a direct 
path, by which theiider, avoiding the loose quicksands, made for 
the northern bank. 

My friend, perhaps I may call him my preserver — for, to a 
stranger, my situation was fraught with real danger— continued to 
press on at the same speedy pace, but in perfect silence, and 1 was 
under too much anxiety of mind to disturb him with any questions. 
At length we arrived at a part of the shore with which I was utterly 
unacquainted, when 1 alighted and began to return, in the best 
fashion 1 could, my thanks for the important service w r hich he had 
just rendered me. 

The stranger only replied by an impatient “pshaw!” and was 
about to ride off, and leave me to my own resources, when 1 im- 
plored him to complete his work of kindness, by directing me to 
♦Shepherd s Bush, which was, as 1 intormed him, my home for the 
present. 

“To Shepherd’s Bush?” he said: “it is but three miles, but if 
you know not the laud better than the sand, you may break your 
neck before you get there; for it is do road for a moping boy in a 
dark night; aud, besides, there are the brook and the fens to cross.” 

1 was a little dismayed at this communication of such difficulties 
as my habits had not called on me to contend with. Once more the 
idea of thy father’s lireside came across me; and I could have been 
well contented to have swapped the romance of my situation, to- 
gether with, the glorious independence of control which 1 possessed 
at the moment, lor the comforts ot the chimney corner, though 1 
were obliged to keep my eyes chained to Erskine’s Larger Institutes. 

1 asked my new friend whether he could not direct me to any 


REDGAUNTLET. 


31 


house ot public entertainment for the night; and, supposing it 
probable he was himself a poor man, I added with the conscious 
dignity of a well-filled pocket-book, that 1 could make it worth any 
man’s while to oblige me. The fisherman making no answer, I 
turned away from him with as gallant auappeaiance of indifference 
as 1 could command, and began to take, as 1 thought, the path 
which lie had pointed out to me. 

His deep voice immediately sounded after me to recall me. “ Stay, 
young man, stay — you have mistaken the road already. 1 wonder 
your "friends sent out such an inconsiderate youth, without some 
one wiser than himself to take care of him.” 

“ Perhaps they might not have done so,” said 1, “if I had any 
friends who cared about the matter.” 

“ Well, sir,” he said, “ it is not my custom to open my house to 
strangers, but your pinch is like to be a smart one] for, besides the 
risk from bad roads, fords, and broken ground, and the night, 
which looks both black and gloomy, there is bad company on the 
road sometimes— at least it has a bad name, and some have "come to 
harm; so that 1 think I must for once make my rule give way to 
your necessity, and give you a night’s lodging in my cottage.” 

Why was it, Alan, that 1 could not help giving an involuntary 
shudder at receiving an invitation so seasonable m itself, aDd so 
suitable to my naturally inquisitive disposition? 1 easily suppressed 
this untimely sensation; and, as I returned thanks, and expressed 
my hope that 1 should not disarrange his family, 1 once more 
dropped a hint of my desire to make compensation lor any trouble 
1 might occasion. The man answered very, coldly, “ Your presence 
will no doubt give me trouble, sir, but it is ot a kind which your 
purse can not compensate; in a w’ord, although 1 am content to re- 
ceive you as my guest, 1 am no publican to call a reckoning.” 

I begged his pardon, and, at his instance, once more seated myself 
behind "him upon the good horse, which went forth steady as before 
— the moon, whenever she could penetrate the clouds, throwing the 
huge shadow of the animal, with its double burden, on the wild 
and bare ground over which we passed. 

Thou mayst laugh till thou lettest, the letter fall if thou wilt, bu 
it reminded me of" the Magician Atlantes on his hippogriff, with a 
knight trussed up behind him, in the manner Ariosto has depicted 
that matter. Thou art, 1 know, matter-of-fact enough to affect con- 
tempt of that fascinating and delicious poem; but think not that, 
to conform with thy bad taste, 1 shall forbear any suitable illustra- 
tion which now or hereafter may occur to me. 

On we went, the sky blackening around us, and the wind begin- 
ning to pipe such a wild and melancholy tune as best suited the 
hollow sounds of the advancing tide, which 1 could hear at a dis- 
tance, like the roar of some immense monster defrauded of its prey. 

At length our course was crossed by a deep dell or dingle, such 
as they call in some parts of Scotland a den, and in others a cleugh, 
or narrow glen. It seemed, by the broken glances whtcli the moon 
continued to throw upon it, to be steep, precipitous, and full of 
trees, which are, generally speaking, rather scarce upon these shores. 
The descent by wdiich we plunged into this dell was both sleep and 
rugged, with two or three abrupt turnings; but neither danger nor 


m 


REDGAUNTLET. 


darkness impeded the motion of the black horse, who seemed rather 
to slide upon his haunches, than to gallop down the pass, throwing 
me again on the shoulders of the athletic rider, who, sustaining no 
inconvenience by the circumstance, continued to press tire horse for- 
waid with his heel, steadily supporting him at the same time by 
raising his bridle-hand, until we stood in safety at the bottom of the 
steep — not a little to my consolation, as, friend Alan, thou mayst 
easily conceive. 

A rery short advance up the glen, the bottom of which we had 
attained by this ugly descent, brought us in front of two or three 
cottages, one of which another blink of moonshine enabled me to 
rnte as rather better than those of the Scottish peasantry in this part 
of the world" for the sashes seemed glazed, and there were what are 
called storm-windows in the roof, giving symptoms of the magnifi- 
cence of a second story. The scene around was very interesting; 
for the cottages and the yards or crofts anuexed to them, occupied 
a hangh, or holm, of two acres, which a brook of some consequence 
(to judge from its roar) had left upon one side of the litlleglen while 
finding its course close to the further bank, and which appeared to 
be covered and darkened with trees, while the level space beneath 
enjoyed such stormy smiles as the moon had that night to bestow. 

1 had little time for observation, for my companion’s loud 
wliistie, seconded by an equally loud halloo, speedily brought to 
the door of the principal cottage a man and a woman, together with 
two large Newfoundland dogs, the deep baying of which 1 had for 
some time heard. A yelping terrier or two, which had joined the 
concert, were silent at the presence of my conductor, anil began to 
whine, jump up, and fawn upon him. The female drew back when 
she beheld a stranger; the man, who had a lighted lantern, advanced, 
and, without any observation, received the horse from my hosr, and 
led him, doubtless, to stable, while I followed my conductor into 
the house. * When we had passed the kalian * we entered a well- 
sized apartment, with a clean brick floor, where a fire blazed (much 
to my contentment) in the ordinary projecting sort of a chimney, 
common in Scottish houses. There were stone seats within the 
chimney; and ordinary utensils, mixed with fishing-spears, nets, 
and similar implements of sport, were hung around the walls of the 
place. The female who had first appeared at the door, had now re- 
treated into a side apartment, she was presently followed by my 
guide, after he had silently motioned me to a seat; and their place 
was supplied by an elderly woman in a gray stuff gown, with a 
check apron and toy, obviously a menial, though neater in her dress 
than is usual in her apparent rank— an advantage which was coun- 
terbalanced by a very forbidding aspect. But the most singular part 
of her attire, in this very Protestant country, was a rosary, in which 
the smaller beads were black oak, and those indicating the pater 
nosier of silver, with a crucifix of the same metal. 

This person made preparations for supper, by spreading a clean 
though coarse cloth over a large oaken table, placing trenchers and 
salt upon it, and arranging the fire to receive a gridiron. I observed 
her motions in silence; for she took no sort of notice of me, and as 

* The partition which divides a Scottish cottage. 


REDGAttNTLET. 33 

her looks were singularly forbidding, 1 felhno disposition to com- 
mence conversation. 

"When this duenna bad made all preliminary arrangements, she 
took from the well filled pouch of my conductor, which he had 
hung up by the door, one or two salmon, or grilses , as the smaller 
sort are termed, and selecting that which seemed best, and in highest 
season, began to cut it into slices, and to prepare a grillade; the 
savory smell of which affected me so powerfully, that 1 began sin- 
cerely to hope that no delay would intervene between the platter and 
the lip. 

As this thought came across me, the man who had conducted the 
horse to the stable entered the apartment, and discovered to me a 
countenance yet more uninviting than that of the old crone who 
■was performing with such dexterity the office of cook to the party. 
He was perhaps sixty years old; yet his brow was not much fur- 
rowed, and his jet-black hair was only grizzled, not whitened, by 
the advance of age. All his motions spoke strength unabated; and, 
though rather undersized, be had very broad shoulders, was square- 
made, thin-flanked, and apparently combined in his frame muscular 
strength and activity; the last somewhat impaired perhaps by years, 
but the first remaining in full vigor. A hard and harsh counte- 
nance-eyes far sunk under projecting ej r ebrows, which were griz- 
zled like his hair— a wide mouth, furnished from ear to ear with a 
range of unimpaired teeth of uncommon whiteness, and a size ;md 
breadth which might have become the jaws of an ogre, completed 
this delightful portrait. He was clad like a fisherman, in jacket and 
trousers of the blue cloth commonly used by seamen, and had a 
Dutch case-knife, like that of a Hamburg skipper, stuck into a 
broad buff belt, which seemed as if it might occasionally sustain 
weapons of a description still less equivocably calculated tor violence. 

This man gave me an inquisitive, and as i thought, a sinister 
look, upon entering the apartment; but, without any further notice 
of me, look up the office of arranging the table, which the old lady 
had abandoned for that of cooking the fish, and, with more address 
than I expected from a person of his coarse appearauce, placed two 
chairs at the head of the table, and two stools below; accommodat- 
ing each seat to a cover, beside which he placed an allowance of 
barley bread, and a small jug, which he replenished with the ale 
from a large black jack. Three of these jugs were of ordinary 
earthenware, but the fourth, which he placed by the right-hand 
cover at the upper end of the table, was a flagon of silver, and dis- 
played armorial bearings. Beside this flagon he placed a salt-cellar 
of silver, handsomely wrought, containing salt, of exquisite whiteness, 
with pepper and other spices. A sliced lemon was also presented 
on a small silver salver. The two large watei-dogs, who seemed 
perfectly to understand the nature of the preparations, seated them- 
selves one on each side of the table, to be ready to receive their por- 
tion of the entertainment. 1 never saw finer animals, or which 
seemed to be more influenced by a sense of decorum, excepting that 
they slobbered a little as the rich scent from the chimney was wafted 
past their noses. The small dogs ensconced themselves beneath the 
table. 

I am aware that 1 am dwelling upon trivial and ordinary circum- 
2 


34 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


stances, and that perhaps 1 may weary out your patience in doing so.. 
But conceive me alone in this strange place, which seemed, from the 
universal silence, to he the very temple of Harpocrates— remember 
that this is my first excursion from home— forget not that the manner 
in which I had been brought hither had the dignity of danger and 
something the air of an adventure, and 1 hat there was a mysterious in- 
congruity iD all 1 had hitherto witnessed; and you will not, 1 think, 
be surprised that these circumstances, though tiifling, should force 
themselves on my notice at tne time, and dwell in my memory 
afterward. 

That a fisher, who pursued the sport perhaps for his amusement 
as well as profit, should be well mounted and better lodged than 
the lower class of peasantry, had in it nothing surprising; but there 
was something about all that 1 saw which seemed to intimate that 
1 was rather in the nbode of a decayed gentleman who clung to a 
few of the forms and observances of former rank, than in that of a 
common peasant, raised above his fellows by comparative opulence. 

Besides the articles of plate which 1 have ahead}' noticed, the old 
man now lighted and placed on the table a silver lamp, or cruisie, 
as the Scottish term it, filled with very pure oil, which in burning 
diffused an aromatic fragrance, and gave me a more perfect view of 
the cottage walls, which I had hitherto only seen dimly by the light 
of the fire. The bink ,* with its usual arrangement of pewter and 
earthenware, which was most strictly and critically clean, glanced 
back the flame of the lamp merrily from one side of the apartment. 
In a recess, formed by the small bow of a latticed window, was a 
larere writing-desk of walnut-tree wood, curiously carved, above 
which arose shelves of the same, which supported a few books and 
papers. The opposite side of the recess contained (as far as I could 
discern, lor it lay in shadow, and 1 could at any rate have seen it 
but imperfectly from the place where 1 was seated) one or two guns, 
together with swords, pistols, and other arms — a collection, widen, 
in a poor cottage, and in a country so peaceful, appeared singular 
at least, if not even somewhat suspicious. 

A.11 these observations, you may suppose, were made much sooner 
than 1 have recorded, or you (if you have not skipped) have been 
able to read them. They were already finished, and 1 was consider- 
ing how I should open some communication with the mute inhab- 
itants of the mansion, when my conductor re-entered from the side 
door by which he had made his exit. 

He had now thrown off his rough liding-cap and his coarse 
jockey-coat, and stood before me in a gray jerkin trimmed with 
black, which sat close to and setoff his large and sinewy frame, and 
a pair of trousers, of a lighter color, cut as close to the body as’they ' 
are used by Ilighlanamen. . His whole dress was of finer cloth than 
that of the old man, and his linen, so minute was my observation, 
clean and unsullied. His shirt was without ruffles, and tied at the 
collar with a black ribbon, which showed his strong and muscular 
neck rising from it, like that of an ancient Hercules. His head was 
small, with a large forehead, and well -formed ears. He wore neither 
peruke nor hair-powder; and his chestnut locks, curling close to his 

* The frame of wooden shelves placed in a Scottish kitchen for holding plates. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


35 


bead, like those ol an antique statue, showed not the least touch of 
time, though tlie owner must have been at least fifty. His features 
were high and prominent in such a degree that one knew not 
whether to term them harsh or handsome. In either case, the 
sparkling gray eye, aquiline nose, and well-formed mouth, com- 
bined to render his physiognomy noble and expressive. An air of 
sadness or severity, or of both, seemed to indicate a melancholy and 
at the same time a haughty temper. 1 could not help running 
mentally over the ancient heroes, to whom 1 might assimilate the 
noble form and countenance before me. He was too young, and 
evinced too little resignation to his fate, to resemble Belisarius. 
Coriolanus, standing by the heart of Tullus Aufidius, came nearer 
the mark; yet the gloomy and haughty look of the stranger had, 
perhaps, still more of Marius, seated among the ruins of Carthage. 

While 1 was lost in these imaginations my host stood by the fire, 
gazing on me with the same attention which I paid to him, until, 
embarrassed by his look, I was about to break silence at all hazards. 
But the supper, now placed upon the table, reminded me, by its 
appearance, of those wants which 1 had almost forgotten while 1. 
was gazing on the fine form of my conductor. He spoke at length, 
and 1 almost started at the deep rich tone of his voice, though what 
he said was but to invite me to sit down to the table. He himself 
assumed the seat of honor, beside which the silver flagon was placed, 
and beckoned to me to sit down beside him. 

Thou knowest thy father’s strict and excellent domestic discipline 
has trained me to hear the invocation of a blessing before we break 
the daily bread, for which we are taught to pray — I paused a mo- 
ment, and, without designing to do so, 1 suppose my manner made 
him sensible of what I expected. The two domestics or inferiors, 
as 1 should have before observed, were already seated at the bottom 
of the table, when ray host shot a glance of a very peculiar expression 
toward the old man, observing, with something approaching to a 
sneer, “ Cristal Nixon, say grace— the gentleman expects one.” 

“ The foul fiend shall be clerk, and say amen, when I turn chap- 
lain,” growled out the party addressed, in tones which might have 
become the condition of a dying bear. “ If the gentleman is a 
whig, he may please himself withT his own mummery. My faith is 
neither in ward nor writ, but in barley -bread and brown ale.” 

“Mabel Moffat,” said my guide, looking at the old woman, 
and raising his sonorous voice, probably because she was hard of 
hearing, “ canst thou ask a blessing upon our victuals?” 

The old woman shook her head, kissed the cross which hung 
from her rosary, and was silent. 

“Mabel will say grace for no heretic,” said the master of the 
house, with the same latent sneer on his brow and in his accent. 

At the same moment the side door already mentioned opened, and 
the young woman (so she proved) whom 1 had first seen at the door of 
the cottage advanced a little way into the room, then stopped bash- 
fully, as if she had observed that I was looking at her, and asked 
the master of the house “ if he had called.” 

“Not louder than to make our Mabel hear me,” he replied; “ and 
yet,” he added, as she turned to retire, “ it is a shame a stranger 


36 


REDGAUNTLET. 


should see a house where not one of the family can or will say a 
grace — do thou be our chaplain.” 

The girl, who was really pretty, came lorward with timid mod- 
esty, and, apparently unconscious that she was doing anything un- 
common, pronounced the benediction in a silver-toned voice, and 
with affecting simplicity — her cheek coloring iust so much as to 
show that, on a less solemn occasion, she would have felt more em- 
barrassed. • 

Now, if thou expectest a fine description of this young woman, 
Alan Fairford, in order to entitle thee to taunt me with having 
found a Dulcinea in the inhabitant of a fisherman’s cottage of the 
Solway Firth, thou shaltbe disappointed; for having said she seemed 
very pretty, and that she was a sweet and gentle-speaking creature, 
1 have said all concerning her that 1 can tell thee. She vanished 
when the benediction was spoken. 

My host, with a muttered remark on the cold of our ride, and the 
keen air of the Solway Sands to which he did not seem to wish an 
answer, loaded my plate from Mabel’s grillade, which, with a large 
wooden bow] of potatoes, formed our whole meal. A sprinkling 
from the lemon gave a much higher zest than the usual condiment 
of vinegar; and 1 promise you that, whatever 1 might hitherto have 
felt, either of curiosity or suspicion, did not prevent me from mak- 
ing a most excellent supper, during which little passed betwixt me 
and my entertainer, unless that he did the usual honors of the table 
with courtesy, indeed, but without even the affectation of hearty 
hospitality, which those in his (apparent) condition generally affect 
on such occasions, even when they do not actually feel it. On the 
contrary, his manner seemed that of a polished landlord toward an 
unexpected and unwelcome guest, whom, for the sake of his own 
credit, he receives with civility, but without either good will or 
cheerfulness. ♦ 

If you ask how I learned all this, I can not tell you; nor, were I 
to write down at length the insignificant intercourse which took 
place between us, would it perhaps serve to justify these observa- 
tions. It is sufficient to say that, in helping his dogs, which he did 
from time to time with great liberality, he seemed to discharge a 
duty much more pleasing to himself than wmen he paid the same at- 
tention to his guest. Upon the whole, the result on my mind was 
as 1 tell it you. 

When supper was over, a small case bottle of brandy, in a curious 
frame of silver filigree, circulated to the guest. I had already 
taken a small glass of the liquor, and, when it had passed to Mabel 
and to Crista], and was again returned to the upper end of the table, 
1 could not help taking the bottle in my hand to look more at the 
armorial bearings, which were chased with considerable taste on the 
silver frame-work. Encountering the eye of my entertainer, 1 in- 
stantly saw that my curiosity was highly distasteful; he frowned, 
bit his lip, and showed such uncontrollable signs of impatience that, 
setting the bottle immediately down, 1 attempted some apology. To 
this he did not deign either to reply or even to listen; and Cristal, 
at a signal from his master, removed the object of my curiosity, as 
well as the cup, upon which the same arms were engraved. 

There ensued an awkward pause, which 1 endeavored to break 


RED GAUNTLET. 37 

by observing that “ 1 feared my intrusion upon his hospitality had 
put his family to some inconvenience.” 

“ 1 hope you see no appearance of it, sir,” he replied with cold 
civility. “ What inconvenience a family so retired as ours may 
suiter from receiving an unexpected guest is like to be trifling in 
comparison of what the visitor himself sustains from want of his 
accustomed comforts. So far, therefore, as our connection stands, 
our accounts stand clear.” 

Notwithstanding this discouraging reply, I blundered on, as is 
usual in such cases, wishing to appear civil, and being, perhaps, in 
reality the very reverse. “ 1 vvas afraid,” 1 said, “ that my presence 
had banished one of the family ” ^looking at the side door) “ from 
his table.” 

“If,” he coldly replied, “ 1 meant the young woman whom 1 
had seen in the apartment, he bid me observe that there was room 
enough at the table for her to have seated herself, and meat enough, 
such as it was, tor her supper. 1 might, therefore, be assured, it 
she had chosen it, she would have supped with us.” 

There was no dwelling on this or any other topic longer, for my 
entertainer, taking up the lamp, observed, that ‘‘my Wet clothes 
might reconcile me for the night to the custom of keeping early 
hours; that he was under the necessity of going abroad by peep of 
day to-morrow morning, and would call me up at the same time, to 
point out the way by which I was to return to the Shepherd’s 
Bush.” 

This left no opening for further explanation, nor was there room 
for it on the usual terms of civility; for as he neither asked my 
name nor expressed the least interest concerning my condition, 1— 
the obliged person— had no pretense to trouble him with such in- 
quiries on my part. 

He took up the lamp, and led me through the side door into a 
veiy small room, where a bed had been hastily arranged for my ac- 
commodation, and, putting down the lamp, directed me to leave my 
wet clothes on the outside of the door, that they might be exposed,to 
the fire during the night. He then left me, having muttered some- 
thing which was meant to pass for good-night. 

1 obeyed his directions with respect to my clothes, the rather that, 
in despite of the spirits which I had drunk, I felt my teeth begin 
to chatter, and received various hints from an aguish feeling, that a 
town-bred youth, like myself, could not at once rush into all the 
hardihood of country sports with impunity. But my bed, though 
coarse and hard, was dry and clean; and 1 soon was so little occu- 
pied with my heats and tremors, as to listen with interest to a heavy 
foot, which seemed to be that of my landlord, traversing the boards 
(there was no ceiling, as you may believe) which roofed my apart- 
ment. Light, glancing through these rude planks, became visible 
as soon as my lamp was extinguished; and as the noise of the slow, 
solemn, and regular step continued, and I could distinguish that the 
person turned and returned as he reached the end of the apartment, 
it seemed clear to me that the walker was engaged in no domestic 
occupation, but merely pacing to and fro for his own pleasure. 
“An odd amusement this,” 1 thought, “ for one who had been eu- 


38 


REDGAUNTLET. 


caged at least a part of the preceding day in violent exercise, and 
who talked of rising by the peep of dawn on the ensuing morning.” 

Meantime 1 heard the stoim, which had been brewing during the 
evening, begin to descend with a vengeance; sounds as of distant 
thunder (the noise of the more distant waves, doubtless, on the 
shore), mingled with the roaring of the neighboring torrent, and 
with the crashing, groaning, and even screaming of the trees in 
the glen, whose boughs were tormented by the gale. Within the 
house, windows clattered, and doors clapped, and the walls, tnough 
sufficiently substantial, for a building of the kind, seemed to me to 
totter in the tempest. 

But still the heavy steps perambulating the apartment over my 
head were distinctly heard amid the roar and fury of the elements. 
1 thought more than once 1 even heard a groan; but 1 frankly own 
that, placed in this unusual situation, my fancy may have misled 
me. 1 was tempted several times to call aloud, and ask whether the 
turmoil around us did not threaten danger to the building which 
we inhabited; but when 1 thought of the secluded and unsocial 
master of the dwelling, who seemed to avoid human society, and 
to remain unperturbed amid the elemental war, it seemed that to 
speak to him at that moment would have been to address the spirit 
of the tempest himself, since no other being, 1 thought, coulzl nave 
remained calm and tranquil while winds and waters were thus raging 
around. 

In process of time, fatigue prevailed over anxiety and curiosity. 
The storm abated, or my senses became deadened to its terrors, and 
1 fell asleep ere yet the mysterious paces of my host had ceased to 
shake the flooring over my head. 

It might have been expected that the novelty of my situation, al- 
though it did not prevent my slumbers, would have at least dimin- 
ished their profoundness, and shortened their duration. It proved 
otherwise, however; for 1 never slept more soundly in my life, and 
only awoke when, at morning dawn, my landlord shook me by the 
shoulder, and dispelled some dream, of which, fortunately for 
you, 1 have no recollection, otherwise you would have been favored 
with it, in hopes you might have proved a second Daniel upon the 
occasion. 

“You sleep sound,” said his full deep voice; “ere five years 
have rolled over your head, your slumbers will be lighter — unless 
ere then you are wrapped in the sleep which is never broken.” 

“ How!” said I, starting up in bed; “ do you know anything of 
me — of my prospects — of my views in life?” 

“ Nothing,” he answered, with a grim smile; “ but it is evident 
you are entering upon the world young, inexperienced, and full of 
hopes, and I do but prophesy to you what I would to any one in 
your condition. But come; there lie your clothes— a brown crust, 
and a draught of milk wait you, it you choose to- break your fast; 
buc you must make haste.” 

“ I must first,” 1 said, “ take the freedom to spend a few minutes 
alone, before beginning the ordinary works of the day.” 

“ Oh!— umph! 1 cry your devotions pardon,” he replied, and 
left the apartment. 

Alan, there is something terrible about this man. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


39 


1 joined him, as I had promised, in the kitchen where we had 
supped overnight, where 1 found the articles which lie had offered 
me for breakfast, without butter or any other addition. 

He walked up and down while I partook of the bread and milk; 
and the slow, measured, weighty step seemed identified with those 
which 1 had heard last night. His pace, from its funereal slowness, 
seemed to keep time with some current of internal passion, dark, 
slow, and unchanged. “ We run and leap by the side of a lively 
and bubbling brook,’' thought 1, internally, “ as it we would run a 
race with it; but beside waters deep, slow, and lonely, our pace is 
sullen and silent as their courso. What thoughts may he now cor- 
responding with that furrowed brow, and bearing time with that 
heavy step?” 

“ If you have finished,” said he, looking up to me with a glance 
of impatience as he observed that 1 ate no longer, but remained with 
my eyes fixed upon him, “ I wait to show you the way.” 

We went out together, no individual of the family having been 
visible excepting my landlord. 1 was disappointed of llie oppor- 
tunity which 1 watched for of giving some gratuity to the domes- 
tics, as they seemed to be. As for offering any recompense to the 
master of the household, it seemed to me impossible to have at- 
tempted it. 

What would I have given for a share of thy composure, who 
wouidst have thrust half a crown into a man’s hand whose neces- 
sities seem to crave it, conscious that you did right in making the 
proffer, and not caring sixpence whether you hurt the feelings of 
him whom you meant to serve! 1 saw thee once give a penny to a 
man with a long beard, who, from the dignity of his exterior, might 
have represented Solon. I had not thy courage, and therefore 1 
made no tender to my mysterious host, although, notwithstanding 
his display of silver utensils, all around the house bespoke narrow 
circumstances, if not actual poverty. 

We left the place together. But I hear thee murmur thy very 
new and appropriate ejaculation, Ohe, jam satis ! The rest tor an- 
other time. Perhaps 1 may delay further communication till 1 
learn how my favors are valued. 


LETTER V. 

ALAN FAIRFOLD TO DARSIE LATIMER. 

I have thy two last epistles, my dear Darsie, and expecting the 
third, have been in no huny to answer them. Do not think my 
silence ought to be ascribed to my failing to take interest in them, 
for, truly, they excel (though the task was difficult) thy usual ex- 
cellings. Since the half- moon who earliest discovered the Pande- 
monium of Milton in an expiring wood-fire— since the first ingenious 
urchin who blew bubbles out of soap and water, thou, my best of 
friends, hast the highest knack of making histories out of nothing. 
Were thou to plant the bean in the nursery-tale thou wouidst make 
put, so soon as it began to germinate, that the castle of the giant 
was about to elevate its battlements on the top of it. All that hap- 


KEDGAOsTLET. 


40 

pens to thee gets a touch ot the wonderful and the sublime from thy 
own rich imagination. Didst ever see what artists call a Claude 
Lorraine glass, which spreads its own particular hue over the whole 
landscape which you see through it? — thou beholdest ordinary 
events just through such a medium. 

1 have looked carefully at the facts of thy last long letter, and 
they are just such as might have befallen any little truant of the 
High School who had got down to Leith Sands, gone beyond the 
; prawn-dub , wet his hose and shoon, and, finally, had been carried 
home, in compassion, by some high-kilted fish-wife, cursing all the 
while the trouble which the brat occasioned her. 

1 admire the figure which thou must have made, clinging for 
dear life behind the old tellow’s back— thy jaws chattering with 
fear, thy muscles cramped with anxiety. Thy execrable supper of 
broiled salmon, which was enough to insure the nightmare’s regular 
visits for a twelvemonth, may be termed a real affliction; but as 
tor the storm ot Thursday last (such as 1 observe, was the date), it, 
roared, whistled, howled, and bellowed, as fearfully among the old 
chimney-heads in the Candlemaker Row, as it could off the Solway 
shore, for the very wind of it . — teste me per totem noctem vigilante. 
And then in the morning again, when— Lord help you— in your 
sentimental delicacy, you bid the poor man adieu, without even 
tendering him half a crown for supper and lodging. 

You laugh at me for giving a penny (to be accurate, though, thou 
sliouldst have said sixpence) to an old fellow, whom thou, in thy high 
flight, wouldst have sent home supperless, because he was like 
Solon or Belisarius. But you forget that the affront descended like 
a benediction into the pouch ot the old gaberlunzie, who overflowed 
in blessings upon the generous donor. Long ere he would have 
thanked thee, Darsie, for thy barren veneration of his beard £ ud his 
bearing. Then you laugh at my good father’s retreat from Falkirk 
just aiT it it were not time tor a man to trudge when three or four 
mountain knaves, with naked claymores, and heels as light as their 
fingers, were scampering after him crying furnish. You remember 
what he said himself when the Laird ot Bucklivat told him that 
furnish signified “ to stay awhile.” *' What the devil!” he said, 
surprised out of his Presbyterian correctness by the unreasonable- 
ness of such a request under the circumstances, “ would the scoun- 
drels have had me stop to have my head cut off?” 

Imagine such a traiu at your own heels, Darsie, and ask yourself 
whether you would not exert your legs as fast as you did in flying 
from the Solway tide. And yet you impeach my father’s courage. 
1 tell you he has courage enough to do what is right, and to spurn 
what is wrong — courage enough to defend a righteous cause with 
hand and purse, and to take the part of the poor man against his 
oppressor, without fear of the consequences to himself. This is 
civil courage, Darsie; and it is of little consequence to most men in 
this age and country, whether they ever possess military courage or 
not. 

Do not think 1 am angry with you, though I thus attempt to rec- 
tify your opinions on my father’s account. 1 am well aware that, 
upon the whole, he is scarce regarded with more respect by ire than 
by thee. And, while 1 am in a serious humor, which it is difficult 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


41 


to preserve with one who is perpetually tempting me to laugh at 
him, pray, dearest Darsie, let not thy ardor for adventure carry thee 
into more such scrapes as that of the Solway Sands. The rest ot 
the story is a mere imagination; but that stormy evening might 
have proved, as the clown says to Lear, “ a naughty night to swim 
in.” 

As for the rest, if you can work mysterious and romautic heroes 
out ot old cross-grained fishermen, why, 1 for one, will reap some 
amusement by the metamorphosis. Yet hold! even there, there is 
some need ot caution. This same female chaplain— thou sayest so 
little of her, and so much of every one else, that it excites doubt in 
my mind. T Tery pretty she is, it seems — and that is all thy discre- 
tion informs me of. There are cases in which silence implies other 
things than consent. Wert thou ashamed or afraid, Daisie, to trust 
thyself with the praises of the very pretty grace-sayer? As 1 live, 
thou blushest! Why, do I not know thee an inveterate Squire of 
Dames? and have 1 not been in thy confidence? An elegant elbow, 
displayed when the rest of the figure was muffled in a cardinal, or a 
neat well-turned ankle and instep, seen by chance as its owner 
tripped up the Old Assembly Close,* turned thy brain for eight days. 
Thou wert once caught, if 1 remember rightly, with a single glance 
of a single matchless eye, which, when the fair owner withdrew her 
veil, proved to be single in the literal sense ot the word. And, be- 
sides, were you not another time enamored of a voice— a mere voice, 
that mingled in the psalmody at the Old Grayfraiis’ Church— until 
yoii discovered the proprietor of that dulcet organ to be Miss Dolly 
Maclzzard, who is both “ back and breast,” as our saying goes? 

All these things considered, and contrasted with thy artful silence 
on the subject of this grace-saying Nereid of thine, 1 must beg thee 
to be more explicit upon that subject in thy next, unless thou 
wouldst have me form the conclusion that thou thinkestmore ot her 
than thou carest to talk of. 

You will not expect much news from this quarter, as you know 
the monotony of my life, and are aware it must at present be devot- 
ed to uninterrupted study. You have said a thousand times, that 1 
am only qualified to make my way by dint of plodding, and there- 
fore plod 1 must. 

My father seems to be more impatient of your absence than he 
was after your first departure. He is sensible, 1 believe, that our 
solitary meals want the light which your gay humor was wont to 
throw over them, and feels melancholy as men do when the light 
of the sun is no longer upon the landscape. If it is thus with him, 
thou mayst imagine it is much more so with me, and canst conceive 
how heartily L wish that thy frolic were ended, and thou once more 
our inmate. 

******* 

I resume my pen, after a few hours’ interval, to sav that an inci- 
dent has occurred, on which you will yourself be building a hun- 
dred castles in the air, and which even 1, jealous as 1 am, of such 


* Of old this almost deserted alley formed the most common access betwixt 
the High Street and the southern suburbs. 


42 


REDGAUNTLET. 


baseless fabrics, can not but own affords ground for singular con- 
jecture. 

My father has of late taken me frequently along with him when 
he attends the courts, in his anxiety to see me property initiated into 
the practical forms of business. I own I feel something on his ac- 
count and my own from this overanxiety, which, 1 dare say, ren- 
ders us both ridiculous. But what signifies mj'- repugnance? my 
father drags me up to his counsel learned in the law — “ Are you 
quite ready to come on to-day, Mr. Orossbite? This is my son. de- 
signed for the bar — 1 take the liberty to bring him with me to-day 
to the consultation, merely that he may see how these things are 
managed.” 

Mr. Crossbite smiles and bows, as a lawyer smiles on the solicitor 
who employs him, and 1 dare say, thrusts his tongue into his cheek, 
and whispers into the first great wig that passes him, “ What the 
d— 1 does old Fairford mean by letting loose his whelp on me?” 

As 1 stood beside them, too much vexed at the childish part 1 
was made to play to derive any information from the valuable argu- 
ments of Crossbite, 1 observed a rather elderly man, who stood with 
his eyes firmly bent on my father, as if he only waited an end of the 
business in wdiich he was engaged, to address him. There was 
something, 1 thought, in the gentleman’s appearance which com- 
manded attention. Yet his dress was not in the present taste, and 
though it had once been magnificent, was now antiquated and un- 
fashionable. His coat was of branched velvet, with a satin lining, 
a waistcoat of violet-colored silk, much embroidered; his breeches 
the same stuff as the coat. He 'wore square-toed shoes, with fore- 
tops, as they are called; and his silk stockings were rolled up over 
his knee, as you may have seen in pictures, and here and there on 
some of those originals who seem to pique themselves on dressing 
after the mode of Methuselah. A chapeau bras sword necessarily 
completed his equipment, which, though out of date, showed that 
it belonged to a man ot distinction. 

The instant Mr. Crossbite had ended what he had to say, this gen- 
tleman walked up to my father with, “ Your servant, Mr. Fairford 
— it is long since you and I met.” 

My father, whose politeness, you know, is exact and formal, 
bowed, and hemmed, and was confused, and at length professed that 
the distance since they had met was so great, that, though he re- 
membered the face perfectly, the name, he was sorry to say, had — 
really— somehow — escaped his memory. 

“ Have you forgot Herries ot Birrenswork?” said the gentleman, 
and my father bowed even more profoundly than before; though 1 
think his reception of his old friend seemed to lose some ot the re- 
spectful civility which he bestowed on him while his name was yet 
unknowm. It now seemed to be something like the lip-courtesy 
which the heart would have denied had ceremony permitted. 

My father, however, again bowed low, and hoped he saw him 
well. 

” So well, my good Mr. Fairford, that 1 come hither detei mined 
to renew my acquaintance with one or two old friends, and with 
you in the first place. 1 halt at my old resting-place— you must 
dine with me to-day, at Paterson’s at the head of the Horse Wynd 


REDGAUNTLET. 43 

— it is near your new fashionable dwelling, and 1 have business with 
you.” 

My lather excused himself respectfully, and not without embar- 
rassment — “ he was particularly engaged at home.” 

“ Then 1 will dine with you, man,” said Mr. Hu’ries of Birrens- 
work; “ the few minutes you can spare me after dinner will suffice 
lor my business; and 1 will not prevent you a moment from mind- 
ing your own— 1 am no bottle-man.” 

You have often remarked that my lather, though a scrupulous 
observer of the rites of hospitality, seems to exercise them rather as 
a duty than as a pleasure; indeed, but lor a conscientious wish to 
feed the hungry and receive the stranger, hiB doors would open to 
guests much seidomer than is the case. 1 never saw so strong an 
example ot this peculiarity (which 1 should otherwise have said is 
caricatured in your description), as in his mode of homologating the 
self-given invitation ot Mr. Herries. The embarrassed brow, and 
the attempt at a smile which accompanied his “ We will expect the 
honor of seeing you in Brown Square at three o’clock,” could not 
deceive any one, and did not impose upon the old laird. It was 
with a look of scorn, that he replied, “ 1 will relieve you then till 
that hour, Mr. Fairford;” and his whole manner seemed to say, 
“ It is my pleasure to dine with you, and I care not whether 1 am 
welcome or no.” 

When he turned away, 1 asked my father who he was. 

“ An unfortunate gentleman,” was the reply. 

“ He looks pretty well on his misfortunes,” replied 1. “ 1 should 
not have suspected that so gay an outside was lacking a dinner.” 

“Who told you that he does?” replied -my father; “ he is omni 
suspicione major, so far as worldly circumstances are concerned — it 
is to be hoped he makes a good use of them; though, if he does, it 
will be for the first time in his life.” 

“ He has then been an irregular liver?” insinuated 1. 

My father replied by that famous brocard with which he silences 
all unacceptable queries, turning in the slightest degree upon the 
failings of our neighbors—” If we mend our own faults, Alan, we 
shall all of us have enough to do, without sitting in judgment upon 
other folks.” 

Here 1 was again at fault; but rallying once more, I observed, he 
had the air of a man of high rank and family. 

“ He is well entitled,” said my father, “representing Herries of 
Birrenswork; a branch of that great and once powerful family of 
Herries, the elder branch whereof merged in the house of Nithes- 
dale, at the death of Lord Robin the Philosopher, Anno Domini six- 
teen hundred and sixty-seven.” 

“ Has he still,” said 1, “ his patrimonial estate of Birrenswork?” 

“ No,” replied my father; “ so far back as his father’s lime, it 
was a mere designation— the property being forfeited by Herbert 
Herries following his kinsman the Earl of Deiwentwater, to the 
Preston aflair in 1715. But they keep up the designation, thinking, 
doubtless, that their claims may be revived in more favorable times 
for Jacobites and for Popery; and folks tvho in no way partake of 
their fantastic capriccios, do yet allow it to pass unchallenged, ex 
comitate, if not ex misericordia. But were he the Hope and the Pre- 


44 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


tender both, we must get some dinner ready for him, since he has 
thought fit to offer himself. So hasten home, my lad. and tell Han- 
nah, Cook Epps, and James Wilkinson, to do their best; and do 
tliou look out a pint or two of Maxwell’s best — it is in the fifth bin 
— there are the keys of the wine-cellar. Do not leave them in the 
lock — you know poor James’s failing, though he is an honest creat- 
ure under all other temptations— and I have but two bottles of the 
old brandy left — we must keep it foi medicine, Alan.” 

Away went 1 — made my preparations — the hour of dinner came, 
and so did Mr. Herries of Birrenswork. 

If 1 had thy power of imagination and description, Darsie, 1 could 
make out a fine, dark, mysterious, Bembrandt-looking portrait of 
this same stranger, which should be as far superior to thy fisher- 
man, as a shirt of chain-mail is to a herring net. 1 can assure you 
there is some matter for description about him; but knowing my 
own imperfections, 1 can only say, 1 thought him eminently dis- 
agreeable and ill-bred. No, ill-bred is not the proper word; on the 
contrary, he appeared to know the rules of good-breeding perfect- 
ly, and only to think that the rank of the company did not require 
that he should attend to them— a view of the matter infinitely more 
offensive than if his behavior had been that of uneducated and 
proper rudeness. While my father said grace, the laird did all but 
whistle aloud; and when 1, at my father’s desire, returned thanks, 
he used his toothpick, as if he had waited that moment for its exer- 
cise. 

So much for kirk— with king, matters went even worse. My 
father, thou kuowest, is particularly full of deference to his guests; 
and in the present case he seemed more than usually desirous to 
escape every cause of dispute. He so far compromised his loyalty 
as to announce merely “ The King,” as his first toast after dinner, 
instead of the emphatic “ King George,” which is his usual formula. 
Our guest made a motion with his glass, so as to pass it over the 
water- decanter which stood beside him, and added, “ Over the 
water.” 

My father colored, but would not seem to hear this. Much more 
there was of careless and disrespectful in the stranger’s manner and 
tone of conversation; so that, though 1 know my father’s prejudices 
in favor of rank and birth, and though 1 am aware his otherwise 
masculine understanding has never entirely shaken oft the slavish 
awe of the great, which in his earlier days they had so many modes 
of commanding, still 1 could hardly excuse him for enduring so 
much insolence— such it seemed to be — as this self-invited guest 
was disposed to offer to him at his own table. 

One can endure a traveler in the same carriage, if he treads upon 
your toes by accident, or even through negligence; but it is very 
different when, knowing that they are rattier of a tender descrip- 
tion, he continues to pound away at them with his hoofs. In my 
poor opinion— and 1 am a man of peace— you can, in that case, 
hardly avoid a declaration of war. 

I believe my father read my thoughts in my eye; for, pulling out 
his watch, he said, ‘‘ Halt past four, Alan— you should be in your 
own room by this time —Birrenswork will excuse you.” 

Our visitor nodded carelessly, and 1 had no longer any pretense to 


REDGAUNTLET. 


45 


remain. But as 1 left the room 1 heard this Magnate of Nithesdale 
distinctly mention the name of Latimer. I lingered; but at length 
a direct hint from my father obliged me to withdraw; and w t hen, 
an hour afterward, 1 was summoned to partake of a cup of lea, our 
guest had departed. He had business that evening in the High 
Street, and could not spare time even to drink tea. 1 could not help 
saying, 1 considered his departure as a relief from incivility. 
“ What business has he to upbraid us,” I said, 44 with the change of 
our dwelling from a more inconvenient to a better quarter of the 
town? What was it to him if we chose to imitate some of the con- 
veniences or luxuries of an English dwelling-house, instead of living 
piled up above each other in flats ?* Have his patrician birth and 
aristocratic fortunes given him any right to censure those w r lio dis- 
pose of the fruits of their own industry according to their own 
pleasure?” 

My father took a long pinch of snuff, and replied, 44 Very well, 
Alan; very well indeed. 1 wish Mr Crossbite or Counselor Pest 
had beard you; they must have acknowledged that you have a tal- 
ent for forensic elocution; and it may not be amiss to try a little 
declamation at home now T and then, to gather audacity and Keep 
yourself in breath. But touching the subject of this paraffle of 
words, it’s not worth a pinch of tobacco. D’ye think that 1 care 
for Mr. Herries of Birrenswork more than any other gentleman who 
comes here about business, although 1 do not care to go tilting at his 
throat, because he speaks like a gray goose, as he is? But to say no 
more about him, 1 want to have Darsie Latimer’s present direc- 
tion; for it is possible 1 may have to write the lad a line with my 
own hand — and yet I do not w r ell know — but give me the direction at 
all events.” 

1 did so, and if you have heard from my father accordingly, you 
know more, probably, about the subject of this letter than 1 who write 
it. But if you have not, then shall 1 have discharged a friend’s 
duty, in letting you know that there certainly is something afloat 
between this disagreeable laird and my father, in which you are con- 
siderably interested. 

Adieu! and although I have given thee a subject for waking 
dreams, beware of building a castle too heavy for the foundation; 
which, in the present instance, is barely the w r ord Latimer occurring 
in a conversation betwixt a gentleman of Dumfriesshire and a W.S.f 
of Edinburgh— Ccetera prorsus ignoro. 


LETTElt VI. 

DARSIE LATIMER TO ALAN FAIRF0RD. 

[In continuation of Letters III. and IV.] 

1 told thee 1 walked out into the open air with my grave and 
stern landlord. 1 could now see more perfectly than on the preced- 


* [See Note, p. 21.] 

+ [Writer to the Signet, equivalent to attorney in England. J 


46 


REDGAUNTLET. 


ing night the secluded glen, in which stood the two or three cottages 
which appeared to be the abode of him and his family. 

It was so narrow, in proportion to its depth, that no ray ot the 
morning sun was likely to reach it till it should rise high in the 
horizon. Looking up the dell, you saw a brawling brook issuing 
in foamy haste from a covert of underwood, like a race horse im 
patient to arrive at the goal; and if you gazed yet more earnest! }\ 
you might observe pait of a high water-fall glimmering through the 
foliage, and giving occasion, doubtless, to the precipitate speed of 
the brook. Lower down, the stream became more placid, and 
opened into a quiet piece ot water, which afforded a rude haven to 
two or three fishermen’s boats, then lying high and dry on the sand, 
the tide being out. Two or three miserable huts could be seen be- 
side this little haven, inhabited probably by the owners ot the boats, 
but inferior in every respect to the establishment of mine host, 
though that was miserable enough. 

1 had but a minute or two to make these observations, yet during 
that space my companion showed symptoms of impatience, and 
more than once shouted, “ Cristal— Cristal Nixon,” until the old 
man ot the preceding evening appeared at the door of one of the 
neighboring cottages or outhouses, leading the strong black horse 
which 1 before commemorated, ready bridled and saddled. My 
conductor made Cristal a sign with his finger, and, turning from 
the cottage door, led the way up the steep path or ravine which 
connected the sequestered dell with the open country. 

Had 1 been fjerfectly aware of the character ot the road dDwn 
which i had been hurried with so much impetuosity on the preced- 
ing evening, 1 greatly question if 1 should have ventured the de- 
scent; for it deserved no better name than the channel of a torrent, 
now in a good measure filled with water, that dashed in foam and 
fury into the dell, being swelled with the rains of the preceding 
night. 1 ascended this ugly path with some difficulty, altliough on 
foot, and felt dizzy when 1 observed, from such traces as the rains 
had not obliterated, that the horse seemed almost to have slid down 
it upon his haunches the evening before. 

My host threw himself on his horse’s back without placing a focjt 
in the stirrup — passed me in the perilous ascent, against which he 
pressed his steed as if the animal had had the footing of a wild-cat. 

The water and mud splasbed from his heels in his reckless course, 
and a few bounds placed him on the top of the bank, where 1 pres- 
ently joined him, and found the horse and rider standing still as a 
statue; the former panting and expanding his broad nostrils to the 
morning wind, the latter motionless, with his eye fixed on the first 
beams of the rising sun, which already began to peer above the east- 
ern horizon, and gild the distant mountains of Cumberland and 
Liddesdale. 

He seemed in a reverie, from which he started at my approach, 
and putting his horse in motion, led the way, at a leisurely pace, 
through a broken and sandy road, which traversed a waste, level, 
and uncultivated tract of downs, intermixed with morass, much 
like that in the neighborhood of my quarters at Shepherd’s Bush. 
Indeed the whole open ground of this district where it approaches 


REDGAUNTLET. 47 

the sea has, except in a tew favored spots, the same uniform and 
dreary character. 

Advancing about a hundred yards from the brink of the glen, we 
gained a still more extensive command of this desolate prospect, 
which seemed even more dreary, as contrasted with the opposite 
shores of Cumberland, crossed and intersected by ten thousand lines 
of trees growing in hedge-rows, shaded with groves and woods of 
considerable extent, animated by hamlets and villas, from which 
thin clouds ot smoke already gave sign of human life and human 
industry. 

Aly conductor had extended his arm, and was pointing the road to 
Shepherd’s Bush, when the step ot a horse was heard approaching 
us. He looked sharply round, and having observed who was ap- 
proaching, proceeded in his instructions to me, planting himself at 
the same time in the very middle of the path, which at the place 
where we halted had a slough on the one side and a sand bank on the 
other. 

I observed that the rider who approached us slackened his horse’s 
pace from a slow trot to a walk, as if desirous to suffer us to proceed, 
or at least to avoid passing us at a spot where the difficulty ot so 
doing must have brought us very close to each other. You know 
my old failing, Alan, and that I am always willing to attend to any- 
thing in preference to the individual who has for the time possession 
of the conversation. 

Agreeably to this amiable propensity, I was internally speculat- 
ing concerning the cause ot the rider keeping aloof from us, when 
my companion, elevating his deep voice so suddenly and so sternly, 
as at once to recall my wandering thoughts, exclaimed, “ In the . 
name of the devil, young man, do you think that others have no 
better use for their time than you have, that you oblige me to repeat 
the same thing to you three times over? Do you see, 1 say, yonder 
thing at a mile’s distance, that looks like a finger-post, or rather 
like a gallows? 1 would it had a dreaming fool hanging upon it, 
as an example to all meditative moon-calves! Ion gibbet-looking 
pole will guide you to the bridge, where you must pass the large 
brook; then proceed straight forward, till several roads divide at a 
cairn. Blague on thee, thou art wandering again.” 

It is indeed quite true that at this moment the horseman ap- 
proached us, and my attention was again called to him as 1 made 
way to let him pass. His whole exterior at once showed that he 
belonged to the Society of Friends, or, as the world and the world’s 
law call them, Quakers. A strong and useful iron-gray galloway 
showed, by its sleek and good condition, that the merciful man was 
merciful to his beast. His accouterments were in the usual unosten- 
tatious but clean and serviceable order which characterizes these 
sectaries. His long surtout ot dark-gray of superfine cloth descended 
down to the middle of his leg, and was buttoned up to his chin, to - 
defend him against tbe morning air. As usual, his ample beaver 
hung down without button or loop, and shaded a comely and placid 
countenance, the gravity of which appeared to contain some season- 
ing of humor, and had nothing in common with the pinched puri- 
tanical air affected by devotees in general. The brow was open and 
£ree from wrinkles, whether of age or hypocrisy. The eye was 


48 


REDGAUNTLET. 


clear, calm, anrl considerate, yet appeared to be disturbed by.appre- 
hension, not to say fear, as, pronouncing tlie usual salutation of, 
“ I wish thee a good morrow, friend,” he indicated, by turning his 
palfrey close to one side of the path, a wish to glide past us with as 
little trouble as possible — just as a traveler would choose to pass a 
mastiff of whose peaceable intentions he is by no means confident. 

But my friend, not meaning, perhaps, that he should get off so 
easily, put his horse quite across the path, so that, without plunging 
into the slough, or scrambling up the bank, the Quaker could uot 
have passed him. Neither of these was an experiment without hazard 
greater lhan the passenger seemed willing to incur. He halted, 
therefore, as it waiting till my companion should make way for 
him; and as they sat fronting each other, 1 could not help thinking 
that they might have formed no bad emblem of Peace and War; 
for although my conductor was unarmed, yet the whole of his man- 
ner, his stern look, and his upright seat on horseback, were entirely 
those of a soldier in undress. He accosted the Quaker in these 
words — 44 So hoi friend Joshua — thou art early to the road this morn- 
ing. Has the spirit moved thee and thy righteous brethren to act 
with some honesty, and pull down yondei tide-nets that keep the fish 
from coming up the river?” 

44 Sureiy, friend, not so,” answered Joshua firmly, but good- 
humoredly at the same time; 44 thou canst not expect that our own 
hands should pull down what our purses establisned. Thou killest 
the fish with spear, line, and coble-net; and we with snares and 
with nets, which work by the ebb and the flow of the tide. Each 
doth what seems best in his eyes to secure a share of the blessing 
which Providence hath bestowed on the river, and that within his 
own bounds. I prithee seek no quarrel against us, for thou shall 
have no wrong at our hand.” 

4 4 Be assured 1 will take none at the hand of any man, whether 
his hat be cocked or broad-brimmed,” answered the fisherman. 44 1 
tell you in fair terms, Joshua Geddes, that you and your partners are 
using unlawful craft to destroy the fish in the Solway by stake-nets 
and wears; and that we, who fish fairly, and like men, as our fa- 
thers did, have daily and yearly less sport and less profit. Do not 
think gravity or hypocrisy can carry it off as you have done! The 
world knows you, and we know you. You will destroy the salmon 
which makes the livelihood of fifty poor families, and then wipe 
your mouth, and go to make a speech at Meeting. But do not hope 
it will last thus. 1 give you fair warning, we will be upon you one 
morning soon, when we will not leave ajstake standing in the pools 
of the Solway, and down the tide they shall every one go, and well 
if we do not send a lessee along with them .” 

44 Friend,” replied Joshua with a constrained smile, 44 but that 1 
know thou dost not mean as thou say’st, I would tell thee we are 
under the protection of this country’s laws; nor do we the less trust 
to obtain their protection, that our principles permit us not, by any 
act of violent resistance, to protect ourselves.” 

44 All villainous cant and cowardice,” exclaimed the fisher- 
man, 44 and assumed merely as a cloak to your hypocritical 
avarice.” 

4 Nay, say not cowardice, my friend,” answered the Quaker, 


REDGAUNTLET. 


49 


“ since tliou knowest there may be as much courage in eudurins as 
in acting; and 1 will be judged by this youth, or by any one else, 
whether there is not more cowardice — even in the opinion of that 
world whose thoughts are the breath in thy nostrils— in the armed 
oppressor, who doth injury, than in the defenseless and patient 
sufferer, who endureth it with constancy.” 

” 1 will change no more words with you on this subject,” said 
the fisherman, who, as if something moved at the last argument 
which Mr. Geddes had used, now made room for him to pass for- 
ward on his journey. ‘‘ Do not forget, however,” he added, ** that 
you have had fair warning, nor suppose that we will accept of fair 
words in apology for foul play. These nets of yours are unlawful 
— they spoil our fishings — we will have them down at all risks and 
hazards. I am a man of my word. Friend Joshua.” 

41 1 trust thou art,” said the Quaker; “ but thou art the rather 
bound to be cautious in rashly affirming what thou wilt, never exe- 
cute. For 1 tell thee, friend, that though there i3 as great a differ- 
ence between thee and one of our people as there is between a lion 
and a sheep, yet 1 know and believe thou hast so much of the lion 
in thee, that thou wouklst scarce employ thy strength and thy rage 
upon that which professeth no means of resistance. Report says so 
much good of thee, at. least, if it says little more.” 

* Time will try,” answered the fisherman : *' and hark thee, Joshua, 
before we pait 1 will put thee in the way of doing one good deed, 
which, credit me, is better than twenty moral speeches. Here is a 
stranger youth, whom Heaven has so scantily gifted with Drains, 
that he will bewilder himself in the Sands, as he did last night, un- 
less thou wilt kindly show him the way to Shepherd’s Rush; for 1 
have been in vain endeavoring to make him comprehend the roadr 
thither. Hast thou so much charity under thy simplicity, Quaker, 
as to do this good turn?” 

‘‘Nay, it is tbou, friend,” answered Joshua, ‘‘that dost lack 
charity, to suppose any one unwilling to do so simple a kindness.” 

“ Thou art right — 1 should have remembered it can cost thee noth- 
ing. Young gentleman, this pious pattern of primitive simplicity 
will teach thee the right way to the Shepherd’s Bush— ay, and will 
himself shear thee like a sheep, if you come to buying and selling 
with him.” 

He then abruptly asked me how long 1 intended to remain at 
Shepherd’s Bush. 

1 replied I was at present uncertain— as long, probably, as 1 could 
amuse mvself in the neighborhood. 

“ You aie fond of sport?” he added, in the same tone of brief in- 
quiry. 

“ I answered in the affirmative, but added 1 was totally inexperi- 
enced. 

“ Perhaps if you reside here for some days,” he said, ** we may 
meet again, and 1 may have the chance of giving you a lesson.” 

Ere I could express eithei thanks or assent, lie turned short round 
with a wave of his hand, by way of adieu, and rode back to the 
verge of the dell from which we had emerged together; and, as he 
remained standing upon the banks, 1 could long hear his voice 
while he shouted down to those within its recesses. 


50 


REDGAUNTLET. 


Meanwhile the Quaker and 1 proceeded on our journey tor some 
time in silence; he restraining his sober-minded steed to a pace 
which might have suited a much less active walker than myself, and 
looking on me from time to time with an expression of curiosity, 
mingled with benignity. For my part, I cared not to speak first, 
it happened 1 had never before been in company with one of this 
particular sect, and, afraid that in addressing him i might unwit- 
tingly infringe upon some of their prejudices or peculiarities, 1 
patiently remained silent. At length he asked me whether 1 had 
been long in the service of the laird, as men called him. 

1 repeated the words “ in his service?” with such an accent of 
surprise, as induced him to say, “Nay, but, friend, 1 mean no 
offense; perhaps 1 should have said in his society— -an inmate, I 
mean, in his house?” 

“1 am totally unknown to the person from whom we have just 
parted,” said 1, “and our connection is only temporary. He had 
the charity to give me his guidance from the Sands, and a night’s 
harborage from the tempest. So our acquaintance began, and 
there it is likely to end; for you may observe that our frieud is by 
no means apt to encourage familiarity.” 

“So little so,” answered ray companion, “that thy case is, 1 
think, the first in which 1 ever heard of his receiving any one into 
his house; that is, if thou hast realty spent the night there.” 

“Why should you doubt it?” replied 1; “ there is no motive 1 
can have to deceive you, nor is the object worth it.” 

“ Be not angry with me,” said the Quaker, “ but thou knowest 
that thine own people do not, as we humbly endeavor to do, confine 
themselves within the simplicity of truth, but employ the lan- 
guage of falsehood, not only for profit, but for compliment, and 
sometimes for mere diversion. I have heard various stories of my 
neighbor: of most of , which I only believe a small part, and even 
then they are difficult to reconcile with each other. But this being 
the first time 1 ever heard of his receiving a stranger within his 
dwelling, made me express some doubts. 1 pray thee let them not 
offend thee.” 

“ He does not,” said 1, “ appear to possess in much abundance 
the means of exercising hospitality, and so may be excused from 
offering it in ordinary cases.” 

“ That is to say, friend,” replied Joshua, “ thou hast supped ill, 
and perhaps breakfasted worse. Now my small tenement, called 
Mount Sharon, is nearer to us by two miles than thine inn; and, 
although going thither may prolong thy walk, as taking thee off the 
straighter road to Shepherd’s Bush, yet methinks exercise will suit 
thy youthful limbs, as well as a good plain meal thy youthful ap- 
petite. What say’st thou, my young acquaintance?” 

“ If it puts you not to inconvenience,” 1 replied: for the invitation 
was cordially given, and my bread and milk had been hastily 
swallowed, and in small quantity. 

“Nay,” said Joshua, “ use not the language of compliment with 
those who renounce it. Had this poor courtesy been very incon- 
venient, perhaps 1 had not offered it.” 

“ 1 accept the invitation, then,” said 1, “ in the same good spirit 
in which you give it.” 


KEDGAUKTLET. 


51 

The Quaker smiled, reached me his hand, 1 shook it, and we 
traveled on in great cordiality with each other. The fact is, 1 was 
much entertained by contrasting in my own 'mind the open manner 
ot the kind-hearted Joshua Geddes, with the abrupt, dark, and lofty 
demeanor of my entertainer on the preceding evening Both were 
blunt and unceremonious; but the plainness of the Quaker had the 
character of devotional simplicity, and was mingled with the more 
real kindness, as if honest Joshua was desirous of atoning,- by his 
sincerity, for the lack of external courtesy. On the contrary, the 
manners of the fisherman were those of one to whom the rules of 
good behavior might be familiar, but who, either from pride or mis- 
anthropy, scorned to observe them. Still I thought of him with 
interest and curiosity, notwithstanding so much about him that was 
repulsive; and 1 promised myself, in the course of my conversation 
with the Quaker, to learn all that he knew on the subject. He 
turned the conversation, however, into a different channel, and in- 
quired into my own condition of life, and views in visiting this re- 
mote frontier. 

I only thought it necessary to mention my name, and add, that 1 
had been educated to the law, but finding myself possessed of some 
independence, I had of late permitted myself some relaxation, and 
was residing at Shepherd’s Bush to enjoy the pleasure of angling. 

“1 do thee no harm, young man,” said my new friend, ‘‘in 
wishing thee a better employment for thy grave hours, and a more 
humane amusement (if amusement thou must have) for those of a 
lighter character.” 

“ lou are severe, sir,” 1 replied. “ 1 heard you but a moment 
since refer yourself to the protection of the laws of the country — if 
there be laws, there must be lawyers to explain, and judges to ad- 
minister them.” 

Joshua smiled, and pointed to the sheep which were grazing on 
the downs over which we were traveling. ‘‘ Were a wolf,” he said, 
‘‘to come even now upon yonder flocks, they would crowd for pro- 
tection, doubtless, around the shepherd and his dogs; yet they are 
bitten and harassed daily by the one; shorn, and finally killed and 
eaten, by the other. But 1 say not this to shock you; for though 
laws and lawyers are evils, yet they are necessary evils in this pro- 
bationary state of society, till man shall learn to render unto his 
fellows that which is their due, according to Ihe light ot his own 
conscience, and through no other compulsion. Meanwhile, 1 have 
known many righteous men who have followed thy intended pro- 
fession in honesty and uprightness of walk. The greater their merit, 
who walk erect in a path which so many find slippery.” 

“ And angling,” — said I, ” j^ou object to that also as an amuse- 
ment, you who, if 1 understood rightly what passed between you 
and my late landlord, are yourself a proprietor of fisheries.” 

“ INot a proprietor,” he replied: ‘‘I am only, in copartnery with 
others, a tacksman or lessee of some valuable salmon -fisheries a little 
downthecoast. But mistake me not. The evil of angling, with which 
1 class all sports, as they are called, which have the sufferings of ani- 
mals for their end and object, does not consist in the mere catching and 
killing those animals with which the bounty of Providence hath 
stocked the earth for the good of man, but in making their protracted 


52 


REDGAUNTLET. 


agoii 3 r a principle of delight and enjoymeut. 1 do indeed cause these 
fisheries to be conducted for ihe necessary taking, killing, and sell- 
ing the fish: and, in the same way, were I a farmer, 1 should send 
my lambs to market. But I should as soon think of conti iving 
myself a sport and amusement out of the trade of the butcher as 
out of that of the fisher.” 

We argued the point no further; for though 1 thought his argu- 
ments a little too high strained, yet as my mind acquitted me of hav- 
ing taken delight in aught but the theory of field-sports, 1 did not 
think myself called upon stubbornly to advocate a practice which 
had afforded me so little pleasure. 

We had by this time arrived at the remains of an olrl finger-post, 
which my host had formerly pointed out as a landmark. Here a 
ruinous wooden bridge, supported by long posts resembling crutches, 
served me to get across the water, while my new friend sought a 
ford a good way higher up, for the stream was considerably swelled. 

As 1 paused for his rejoining me, 1 observed an angler at a little 
distance pouching trout after trout, as fast almost as he could cast 
his line; and 1 own, in spite of Joshua’s lecture on humanity, 1 could 
not but> envy his adroitness and success— so natural is the love of 
sport to our minds, or so easily are we taught to assimilate success 
in field-sports with ideas of pleasure and with the praise due to ad- 
dress and agility. 1 soon recognized in the successful angler little 
Benjie, who had been my guide and tutor in that gentle art, as you 
have learned from my former letters. 1 called — 1 whistled— the 
rascal recognized me, and starting like a guilty thing, seemed hesi- 
tating whether to approach or to run away ; and when he determined 
on the former, it was to assail me with a loud, clamorous, and exag- 
gerated report of the anxiety of all at the Shepherd’s Bush for my 
personal safety; how my landlady had Wept, how Sam and the 
hostler had not the heart to go to bed, but sat up all night drinking 
— and how he himself had been up long before daybreak to go m 
quest of me. 

“And you were switching the water, I suppose,” said 1, “to 
discover my dead body?” 

This observation produced a long “ Na— a — a ” of acknowledged 
detection; but, with his natural impudence, and confidence in my 
good-nature, he immediately added, “ that he thought 1 -would like a 
fresh trout or twa for breakfast, and the water being in such a rare 
trim for the saumon raun* he couldna help taking a cast,” 

While we were engaged in this discussion the honest Quaker re- 
turned to the further end of the wooden bridge to tell me he could 
not venture to cross the brook in its present state, but would be 
under the necessity to ride round by the stone bridge, which was a 
mile and a half higher up than his own house. He was about to 
give me directions how to proceed without him, and inquire for his 
sister, when 1 suggested to him, that if he pleased to trust his horse 
to little Benjie, the boy might carry him round by the bridge, while 
we walked the shorter and moie pleasant road. 

Joshua shook his head, for he was well acquainted with Benjie, 

* The bait made of salmon-roe salted and preserved. In a swollen river, and 
about the month of October, it is a most deadly bait. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


53 


who, he said, was the naughtiest varlet in the whole neighborhood. 
Nevertheless, rather than part company, he agreed to put the pony 
under his charge tor a short season, with many injunctions that he 
should not attempt to mount, but lead the pony (even Solomon) by 
the bridle, under the assurance of sixpence in case of proper de- 
meanor, and penalty, that if he transgressed the orders given him, 
44 verily he should be scourged.” 

Promises cost Benjie nothing, and he showered them out whole- 
sale, till the Quaker at length yielded up the bridle to him, repeat- 
ing his charges, and enforcing them by holding up his forefinger. 
On my part. 1 called to Benjie to leave the fish he had taken at Mount 
Sharon, making, at the same time, an apologetic countenance to my 
new friend, not being quite aware wliether'the compliment would 
be agreeable to such a condemner of field-sports. 

He understood me at once, and reminded me of the practical dis- 
tinction betwixt catching the animals as an object of cruel and 
wanton sport, and eating them as lawful and gratifying articles of 
food after they were killed. On the latter point he had no scruples; 
but, on the contrary, assured me that this brook contained the real 
red trout, so highly esteemed by all connoisseurs, and that, when 
eaten within an hour after being caught, they had a peculiar firmness 
of substance and delicacy of flavor, which rendered them an agree- 
able addition to a morning meal, especially when, earned, like ours, 
by early rising, and an hour or two’s wholesome exercise. 

But, to thy alarm be it spoken, Alan, we did not come so far as 
the frying of our fish without further adventure. So it is only to 
spare thy patience, and mine own eyes, that 1 pull up for the 
present, and send thee the rest of my story in a subsequent letter. 


LETTER VII. 

THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

[In continuation.] 

Little Benjie, with the pony, having been sent off on the left 
side of the brook, the Quaker and i sauntered on, like the cavalry 
and infantry of the same army occupying the opposite banks of a 
river, and observing the same line of march. But, while my worthy 
companion was assuring me of a pleasant greensward walk to his 
mansion, little Benjie, who had been charged to keep in sight, chose 
to deviate from the path assigned him, and, turning to the right led 
his charge, Solomon, out of our vision. 

‘‘The villain means to mount him!” cried Joshua, with more 
vivacity than was consistent with his profession of passive endur- 
ance. 

I endeavored to appease his apprehensions, as he pushed on, wip- 
ing his brow with vexation, assuring him, that if the boy did mount, 
he would, for his own sake, ride gently. 

“ You do not know him,” said Joshua, rejecting all consolation; 
do anything gently!— no, he will gallop Solomon— he will 
misuse the sober patience of the poor animal, who has borne me so 
long! Yes, 1 was given over to my own devices when I ever let 


54 


BBDGAUNTLET. 


him touch the bridle, for such a little miscreant there never was 
before him in this country.” 

He then proceeded to expatiate on every sort of lustic enormity of 
which he accused Benjie. He had been suspected of snaring par- 
tridges— was detected by Joshua himself in liming singing-biids— - 
stood fully charged with having worried several cats, by aid ol a 
lurcher which attended him, and which was as lean, and ragged, and 
mischievous, as his master. Finally, Benjie stood accused of having 
stolen a duck, to hunt it with the said lurcher, which was as dexter- 
ous on water as on land. I chimed in with my friend, in order to 
avoid giving him further irritation, and declared, I should be dis- 
posed, from my own experience, to give up Benjie as one ot Satan’s 
imps. Joshue Geddes began to censure the phrase as too much ex- 
aggerated, and otherwise unbecoming the mouth of a reflecting 
person; and, just as 1 was apologizing for it, as being a term ot com- 
mon parlance, we heard certain sounds on the opposite side of the 
brook, which seemed to indicate that Solomon and Benjie were at 
issue together. The sand hills behind which Benjie seemed to take 
his course had concealed from us, as doubtless he meant they should, 
his ascent into the forbidden saddle, and putting Solomon to his 
mettle, which he was seldom called upon to exert, they had cantered 
away together in great amity, till they came near to the ford from 
which the palfrey’s legitimate owner had already turned back. 

Here a contest of opinions took place between the horse and his 
rider. The latter, according to his instructions, attempted to direct 
Solomon toward the distant bridge of stone; but Solomon opined 
that the ford was the shortest way to his own stable. The point 
was sharply contested, and we heard Benjie gee hupping, tchek- 
tcheking, and, above all, flogging in great style; while Solmon. who, 
docile in his general habits, was now stirred beyond his patience, 
made a great trampling and recalcitration ; and it was their joint 
noise which we heard, without being able to see, though Joshua 
might too well guess, the cause of it. 

Alarmed at these indications, the Quaker began to shout out, 
“ Benjie— thou varlet!— Solomon — thou fool!” when tliecouple pre- 
sented themselves in full drive, Solomon having now decidedly ob- 
tained the better ot the conflict, and bringing his unwilling rider in 
high career down to the ford. Never was there anger chauged so 
fast into human fear as that of my good companion^ “ The varlet 
will bedrovsned!” he exclaimed — ” a widow’s son! — her only son! 
— and drowned— let me go.” And he struggled with me stoutly, 
as 1 hung upon him to prevent him from plunging into tbe lord. 

1 had no fear whatever for Benjie; for the blackguard vermin, 
though he could not manage the refractory horse, stuck on his seat 
like a monkey. Solomon and Benjie scrambled through the ford 
with little inconvenience, and resumed their gallop on the other side. 

It was impossible to guess wdiether on this last occasion Benjie 
was running oil with Solomon, or Solomon with Benjie; but, judg- 
ing from character and motives, I rather suspected the former. 1 
could not help laughing as ihe rascal passed me, grinning betwixt 
terror and delight, perched on the very pommel of the saddle, and 
holding with extended arms by bridle and mane; while Solomon, 
the bit secured between his teeth, and his head bored down betwixt 


KEDGAUNTLET. 55 

his fore legs, passed his master in this unwonted guise as hard as he 
could pelt. 

“ The mischievous bastard!” exclaimed the Quaker, terrified out 
5>f his usual moderation of speech — “ the doomed gallows-bird!— he 
will break Solomon’s wind to a certainty.” 

1 prayed him to be comforted — assured him a brushing gallop 
would do his favorite no harm— and reminded him of the censure 
he had bestowed on me a minute before, for applying a harsh epithet 
to the boy. 

But Joshua was not without his answer: “Friend youth,” he 
said, “ thou didst speak of the lad’s soul, which thou didst affirm 
belonged to the enemy, and of that thou couldstsay nothing of thine 
own knowledge; on the contrary, 1 did but speak of his outward 
man, which will asuredly be suspended by a cord, it he mendeth 
not his manners. Men say that, young as he is, he is one of the 
laird’s gang.” 

“ Of the laird’s gang!” said 1, repeating the words in surprise. 
“ Do you mean the person with whom I slept last night? 1 heard 
you call him the laird. Is he at the head of a gang?” 

“ Nay, 1 meant not precisely a gang,” said the Quaker, who ap- 
peared in his haste to have spoken more than he intended — “ a com- 
pany, or party, I should have said; but thus it is. Friend Laiimer, 
with the 'wisest men, when they permit themselves to be perturbed 
with passion, and speak as in a fever, or as with the tongue of the 
foolish and the froward. And although thou hast been hasty to 
inafk my infirmity, yet 1 grieve not that thou hast been a witness 
to it, seeing that the stumbles ot the wise may be no less a caution 
to youth and inexperience, than is the fall of the foolish.” 

This was a sort ot acknowledgment of what 1 had already begun 
to suspect— that my new friend’s real goodness ot disposition, joined 
to the acquired quietism of his religious sect, had been unable en- 
tirely to check the effervescence ot a temper naturally warm and 
hasty. 

Upon the present occasion, as if sensible he had displayed a 
greater degree of emotion than became his character, Joshua avoided 
further allusion to Benjie and Solomon, and proceeded to solicit my 
attention to the natural objects around us, which increased in beauty 
and interest, as, still conducted by the meanders of the brook, we 
left the common behind us, and entered a more cultivated and in- 
closed country, where arable and pasture ground was agreeably 
varied with groves and hedges. Descending now almost close to 
the stream, our course lay through a little gate, into a pathway, kept 
with great neatness, the sides of which were decorated with trees 
and flowering shrubs of the hardier species; until, ascending by a 
gentle slope, we issued from the grove, and stood almost at once in 
front of a low but very neat building, ot an irregular form; and my 
guide, shaking me cordially by the hand, made me welcome to 
Mount Sharon. 

The wood through which we had approached this little mansion 
was thrown around it both on the north and north-west; but, break- 
ing off into different directions, was intersected by a few fields well 
watered and sheltered. The house fronted to the south-east, and 
from thence the pleasure-ground, or, 1 should rather say, the gardens. 


REDGAUNTLKT. 


56 

sloped down to the water. 1 afterward understood that the father 
ol the present proprietor had a considerable taste tor horticulture, 
which had been inherited by his son, and had formed these gardens, 
which, with tlieix shaven turf, pleached alleys, wildernesses, and 
exotic trees and shrubs, greatly excelled anything of the kind which 
had been attempted in the neighborhood. 

If there was a little vanity in the complacent smile with which 
Joshua Geddes saw me gaze with delight on a scene so different 
from the naked waste we had that day traversed in company, it 
might surely be permitted to one, who, cultivating and improving 
the beauties of nature, had found therein, as he said, bodily health, 
and a pleasing relaxation for the mind. At the bottom of the ex- 
tended gardens the brook wheeled round in a wide semi-circle, and 
was itself their boundary. The opposite side was no part of 
Joshua’s domain, but the brook was there skirted by a precipitous 
rock of limestone, which seemed a barrier of Nature’s own erecting 
around his little Eden of beauty, comfort, and peace. 

“ But 1 must not let thee forget,” said the kind Quaker, “ amidst 
thy admiration of these beauties of our little inheritance, that thy 
breakfast has been a light, one.” 

Bo saying, Joshua conducted me to a small sashed door, opening 
under a porch amply mantled by honeysuckle and clematis, into a 
parlor of moderate size; the furniture of which, in plainness and 
excessive cleanliness, bore the characteristic marks of the sect to 
which the owner belonged. 

Thy lather’s Hannah is generally allowed to be an exception to 
all Scottish housekeepers, and stands unparalleled for cleanliness 
among the women of Auld Reekie; but the cleanliaess of Hannah 
is sluttishness compared to the scrupulous purifications of these peo- 
ple, who seem to carry into the minor decencies of life that con- 
scientious rigor which they affect in their morals. 

The parlor would have been gloomy, for the windows were small 
and the ceiling low; but the present proprietor had rendered it more 
cheerful by opening one end into a small conservatory, rooted with 
glass, and divided from the parlor by a partition of the same. 1 
have never before seen this very pleasing manner of uniting the 
comforts of an apartment with the beauties of a garden, and 1 Won- 
der it is not more practiced by the great. Something of the kind is 
hinted at in a paper of the “ Spectator.” 

As 1 walked toward the conservatory to view it more closely, the 
parlor chimney engaged my attention. It was a pile of massive 
stone, entirely out of proportion to the size of the apartment. On 
the front had once been an armorial scutcheon; for the hammer, or 
chisel, which had been employed to deface the shield or crest, had 
left uninjured the scroll beneath, which bore the pious motto, 
” Trust in God.*' Biack-letter, you know, was my early passion, 
and the tombstones in the Grayfriars’ Church-yard early yielded up 
to my knowledge as a decipherer what little they could tell of the 
forgotten dead. 

Joshua Geddes paused when he saw my eye fixed on this relic of 
antiquity. “ Thou canst read it?” he said. 

I repeated the motto, and added, there seemed vestiges of a date. 

It should be 1537,” said he; “ for so long ago, at the least com- 


REDGAUKTLET. 


57 

putation, did ray ancestors, in the blinded times ot Papistry, possess 
these lands, and in that year did they build their house.” 

“ It is an ancient descent,” said 1, looking with iespect upon the 
monument, ‘‘lam sorry the arms have been defaced.” 

It was perhaps impossible for my friend, Quaker as he was, to 
seem altogether void of respect for the pedigree which he began to 
recount to me, disclaiming all the while the vanity usually connect- 
ed with the subject; in short, with the air of mingled melancholy, 
regret, and conscious dignity, with which Jack F’awkes used to tell 
us, at college, of his ancestor’s unfortunate connection with the 
Gunpowder Plot. 

“ Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher ’’—thus harangued Joshua 
Geddes at Mount Sharon — “ if we ourselves aie nothing in the sight 
of Heaven, how much less than nothing must be our derivation from 
rotten bones, and moldering dust, whose immortal spirits have long 
since gone to their private account? Yes, friend Latimer, my an- 
cestors were renowned among the ravenous and bloodthirsty men 
who then dwelt in this vexed country; and so much were they famed 
fur successful freebooting, robbery, and bloodshed, that they are 
said to have been called Geddes, as liking them to the fish called a 
Jack, Pike, or Luce, and in our country tongue, a Ged— a goodly 
distinction truly for Christian men! Yet did they paint this shark 
of the fresh waters upon their shields, and these profane priests of 
a wicked idolatry, the empty boasters called heralds, who make 
engraven images of fishes, fowls, and four-footed beasts, that men 
may fall down and worship them, assigned the Ged for the device 
and escutcheon ot my iatkeis, and hewed it over their chimneys, 
and plac’ed it above their tombs; and the men were elated in mind, 
and became yet more Ged-like, slaying, leading into captivity, and 
dividing the spoil, until the place where they dwelt obtained the 
name of Sharing-Knowe, from the booty which was there divided 
amongst them and their accomplices. But a better judgment was 
given to my father’s father, Philip Geddes, who, after trying to 
light his candle at some of the vain wild-fires then held aloft at differ- 
ent meetings and steeple-houses, at length obtained a spark from 
the lamp of the blessed George Fox, who came into Scotland spread- 
ing light among darkness, as he himself hath written, as plentifully 
as Hy the sparkles from the hoot of the horse which gallops swiftly 
aloug the stony road.” Here the good Quaker interrupted himself 
with, “ And that is very true, I must go speedily to see after the 
condition of Solomon.” 

A Quaker servant here entered the room with a tray, and inclin- 
ing his head toward his master, but not alter the manner of one 
wiio bows, said composedly, ‘‘Thou art welcome home, Friend 
Joshua, we expected thee not so early; but what hath befallen Solo- 
mon, thy horse?” 

‘‘What hath befallen him, indeed!” said my friend; ‘‘hath he 
not been returned hither by the child whom they call Benjie?” 

“ He hath,” said his domestic, “ but it was after a strange fash- 
ion; for he came hither at a swift and furious pace, and flung the 
child Benjie from his back, upon the heap ot dung which is in the 
stable-yard. ” 

“ I am glad ot it,” said Joshua, hastily—” glad of it, with all my 


58 REDGAUNTLET. 

heart and spirit! But slay, he is the child of the widow — hath the 
boy any hurt?” 

‘‘ Not so,” answered the servant, “ for he rose and fled swiftly. 

Joshua muttered something about a scourge, and then inquired 
after Solomon’s present condition. 

‘‘He seetheth like a steaming caldron,” answered the servant; 
“ and Bauldie, the lad, walkeUiliim about the yard with a halter, 
lest he take cold.” 

Mr. Geddes hastened to the stable-yard to view personally the 
condition of his favorite, and 1 followed, to oiler my counsel as a 
jockey— don’t laugh, Alan, sure 1 have jockeyship enough to assist 
a Quaker— in this unpleasing predicament. 

The lad who was leading the horse seemed to be no Quaker, 
though his intercourse with the family had given him a touch of 
their prim sobriety of look and manner. He assured Joshua that 
his horse had received no injury, and 1 even hinted that the exer- 
cise would be of service to him. Solomon himself neighed toward 
his master, and rubbed his head against the good Quaker’s shoul- 
der, as if to assure him of his being quite well; so that Joshua re- 
turned in comfort to his parlor, where breakfast was now about to 
be displayed. 

1 have since learned that the affection of Joshua for his pony is 
considered as inordinate by some of his own sect; and that he has 
been much blamed for permitting it to be called by the name of 
Solomon, or any other name whatever; but he has gained so much 
respect and influence among them that they overlook these foibles. 

1 learned from him (whilst the old servant, Jehoiachim, entering 
and re entering, seemed lo make no end of the materials which he 
brought in for breakfast) that his grandfather Philip, the convert 
of George Pox, had suffered much from the persecution to which 
these harmless devotees were subjected on all sides during that in- 
tolerant period, and much of their family estate had been dilapidat- 
ed. But better days dawned on Joshua’s father, who, connecting 
himself by marring - with a wealthy family of Quakers in Lanca- 
shire, engaged successfully in various branches of commerce, and 
redeemed the remnants of the property, changing its name in sense, 
wilhout much alteration of sound, from the border appellation of 
Sharing-Knowe, lo the evangelical appellation of Mount Sharon. 

This Philip Geddes, as 1 before hinted, had imbibed the taste for 
horticulture and the pursuits of the florist, which are not uncom- 
mon among the peaceful sect he belonged to. He had destroy ed the 
remnants of the old peel-house, substituting the modern mansion in 
its place; and while he reserved the hearth of his ancestors, in mem- 
ory of their hospitality, as also the pious motto which they had 
chanced to assume, he failed not to obliterate the worldly and mili- 
tary emblems displayed upon the shield and helmet, together with 
all their blazonry. 

Jn a tew minutes after Mr. Geddes had concluded the account of 
himself and his family his sister Rachel, the only surviving mem- 
ber of it, entered the room. Per appearance is remarkably pleas- 
ing, and although her age is certainly thirty at least, she still retains 
the shape and motion of an earlier period. The absence of every- 
thing like fashion or ornament was as usual, atoned for by the most 


REDGAUNTLET. 


59 


perfect neatness and cleanliness of her dress; and her sister’s close 
cap was particularly suited to eyes which had the softness and sim- 
plicity of the dove's. Her features wire also extremely agreeable, but 
had suffered a little through the ravages of that professed enemy 
to beauty, the small-pox, a disadvantage which was in part counter- 
balanced by a well-formed mouth, teeih like pearls, and a pleasing 
sobriety of smile, that seemed to wish good here and hereafter to 
every one she spoke to. You can not make any of your vile refer- 
ences here, Alan, for 1 have given a l'ull-length picture of Rachel 
Geddes; so that you can not say m this case, as in the letter 1 have 
just received, that she was passed over as a subject on which 1 
feared to dilate. More of this anon. 

Well, we settled to our breakfast after a blessing, or rather an ex- 
tempore prayer, which Joshua made upon the occasion, and which 
the spirit moved him to prolong rather more than 1 felt altogether 
agreeable. Then Alan, there was such a dispatching of the good 
things of the morning, as you have not witnessed since you have 
seen Darsie Latimer at breakfast. Tea and chocolate, eggs, ham 
and pastry, not forgetting the broiled fish, disappeared with a celerity 
which seemed to astonish the good-humored Quakers, who kept 
loading my plate with supplies, as if desirous of seeing whether 
they could, by any possibility, tire me out. One hint, however, 1 
received, which put me in mind where 1 was. Miss Geddes had 
offered me some sweet-cake, which at the moment 1 declined; but 
presently afterward, seeing it within my reach, 1 naturally enough 
helped myself to a slice, and had just deposited it beside my plate, 
when Joshua, mine host, not with tbe authoritative air of Sancho’s 
doctor, Tirtea Fuera, but in a very calm and quiet manner, lifted it 
away and replaced it on the dish, observing only, “ Thou didst re- 
fuse it before, friend Latimer.'’ 

These good folks, Alan, make no allowance for what your good 
father calls the Aberdeen man’s privilege of “ taking his word 
again;” or what the wise call second thoughts. 

Bating this slight hint, that I was among a precise generation, 
there was nothing in my reception that was peculiar — unless, indeed, 
1 were to notice the solicitous and uniform kindness with which 
all the attentions of my new friends were seasoned, as if they were 
anxious to assure me that the neglect of worldly compliments inter- 
dicted by their sect only served to render their hospitality more sin- 
cere. At length my hunger was satisfied, and the worthy Quaker, 
who, with looks of great good-nature, had watched my progress, 
thus addressed his sister: — 

“ This young man, Rachel, hath last night sojourned in the tents 
of our neighbor, whom men call the laird. I am sorry I had not 
met him the evening before, for our neighbor’s hospitality is too 
unfrequentiy exeicised to be well prepared with the means of wel- 
come. ” 

“ Nay, but, Joshua,” said Rachel, “ if our neighbor hath done a 
kindness, thou shouldst not grudge him the opportunity; and if 
our young friend hath fared ill for a night, he will the better relish 
what Providence may send him of better provisions.” 

“ And that he may do so at leisure,” said Joshua, “ we will pray 
him, Rachel, to tarry a day or twain with us-, he is young and is but 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


60 

now entering upon the world, and our habitation may, if he will, he 
like a resting-place from which he may look abroad upon the pil- 
grimage which he must take, and the path which he has to travel. 
What sayest thou, friend Latimer? We constrain not our friends 
to our ways, and thou art, 1 think, too wise to quarrel with us for 
following our own fashion; and if we should even give thee a word 
of advice, thou wilt not, I think, be angry, so that it is spoken in 
season.” 

Aouknow, Alan, how easily 1 am determined by anything re- 
sembling cordiality — and so, though a little afraid of the formality 
of my host and hostess, 1 accepted their invitation, provided I 
could get some messenger to send to Shepherd’s Bush for my serv- 
ant and portmanteau. 

“ Why, truly, friend,” said Joshua, “ thy outward frame would 
be improved by cleaner garments; but 1 will do thine errand myself 
to the Widow Gregson’s house of reception, and send thy lad hither 
with thy clothes. Meanwhile, Rachel will show thee these little 
gardens, and then will put thee in some way of spending thy time 
usefully, till our meal calls us together at the second hour after 
noon. 1 bid thee farewell for the present, having some space to 
walk, seeing I must leave the animal Solomon to his refreshing 
rest.” 

With these words, Mr. Joshua Geddes withdrew. Some ladies 
we have known would have felt, or at least affected, reserve or em- 
barrassment at being left to do the honors of the grounds to (it will 
be out, Alan) a smart young fellow— an entire stranger. She went 
out for a few minutes, and returned in her plain cloak and bonnet, 
with her beaver-gloves, prepared to act as my guide, with as much 
simplicity as it she had 'been to wait upon thy father. So forth I 
sallied with my fair Quakeress. 

If the house at Mount Sharon be merely a plain and convenient 
dwelling, of moderate size, and small pretensions, the gardens and 
offices, though not extensive, might rival an earl’s in point of care 
and expensed Rachel carried me first to her own favorite resort, a 
poultry -yard stocked with a variety of domestic fowls, of the more 
rare as well as the most ordinary kinds, furnished with every ac- 
commodation which may suit their various habits. A rivulet which 
spread in a pond for the convenience of the aquatic birds, trickled 
over gravel as it passed through the yards dedicated to the land 
poultry, which w r ere thus amply supplied with the means they use 
for digestion. 

All these creatures seemed to recognize the presence of their mis- 
tress, and some especial favorites hastened to her feet, and con- 
tinued to follow her as far as their limits permitted. She pointed 
out their peculiarities and qualities, with the discrimination of one 
w 7 ho had made natural history her study; and I own 1 never looked 
on barn-door fowls with so much interest before— at least until they 
w 7 ere boiled or roasted. 1 could not help asking the trying ques- 
tion, how she could order the execution of any of the creatures of 
which she seemed so careful. 

“ It was painful,” she said, “ but it w T as according to the law of 
their being. They must die; but they knew not when death was 
approaching; and in making them comfortable while they lived. 


REDGAUNTLET. 61 

we contributed to their happiness as much as the conditions of their 
existence permitted us.” 

1 am not quite of her mind, Alan. I do not believe either pigs or 
poultry would admit that the chief end of their being was to be 
killed and eaten. However, 1 did not press the argument, from 
which my Quaker seemed rather desirous to escape; tor conducting 
me to the greenhouse, which was extensive, and filled with the 
choicest plants, she pointed out an aviary which occupied the 
further end, where, she said, she employed herself with attending 
the inhabitants, without being disturbed with any painful recollec- 
tions concerning their future destination. 

1 will not trouble you with any account of the various hot-houses 
and gardens, and their contents. No small sum of money must 
have been expended in erecting and maintaining them in the ex- 
quisite degree of good order which they exhibited. The family, 1 
understood, were connected with that of the celebrated Millar, and 
had imbibed his taste for flowers, and for horticulture. But instead 
of murdering botanical names 1 will rather conduct you to the 
'policy, or pleasure-garden, which the taste of Joshua or his father 
had extended on the banks betwixt the house and river. This also 
in contradistinction to the prevailing simplicity was ornamented in 
an unusual degree. There were various compartments, the connec- 
tion of which was well managed, and although the whole ground 
did not exceed five or six acres it was so much varied as to seem 
tour times larger. The space contained close alleys and open walks; 
a very pretty artificial water-fall; a fountain aiso, consisting of a 
considerable jet-d’eau, whose streams glittered in the sumbeams and 
exhibited a continual rainbow. There was a cabinet of verdure, as 
the French call it, to cool the summer heat, and there was a terrace 
sheltered from the north-east by a noble holly hedge, with all its glit- 
tering spears, where you might have the full advantage of the sun 
in the clear frosty days of winter. 

1 know that you, Alan, will condemn all this as bad and anti- 
quated; tor, ever since Dodsley has described the Leasowes, and 
talked of Brown’s imitations of nature, and Horace Walpole’s late 
Essay on Gardening, you are all for simple nature— condemn walk- 
ing up and down-stairs in the open air, and declare for w r ood and 
wilderness. But ne quid nimis. 1 would not deface a scene of 
natural grandeur or beauty, by the introduction of crowded artificial 
decorations; yet such may, 1 think, be very interesting, where the 
situation, in its natural state, otherwise has no particular charms. 

So that when 1 have a country-house (who can say how soon) you 
may look for grottoes, and cascades, and fountains; nay, if you vex 
me by contradiction, perhaps 1 may go the length of a temple— so 
provoke me not, for you see of what enormities J am capable. 

At any rate, Alan, had you condemned as artificial the rest of 
Friend Geddes’s grounds, there is a willow-walk by the very verge 
of the stream, so sad, so solemn, and so silent, that it must have 
commanded your admiration. The brook, restrained at the ultimate 
boundary of the grounds by a natural dam dike or ledge of rocks, 
seemed, even in its present swollen state, scarcely to glide along; 
and ihe pale willow-trees, drooping their long branches into the 
stream, gathered around them little coronals of the foam that floated 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


62 

down from the more rapid stream above. The high rock, which 
formed the opposite bank of the brook, was seen dimly through the 
brandies, and its pale and splintered front, garlanded with long 
streamers of briers, and other creeping plants, seemed a barrier be- 
tween the quiet path which we trod, and the toiling and bustling 
world beyond. The path itself, following the sweep of the stream, 
made a very gentle curve; enough, however, served by its inflection 
completely to" hide the end of the walk, until you arrived at it. A 
deep and sullen sound, which increased as you proceeded, prepared 
you tor this termination, which was indeed only a plain root-seat, 
from which you looked on a fall of about six or seven feet, where 
the brook flung itself over the ledge of natural rock 1 have already 
mentioned, which there crossed its course. 

The quiet and twilight seclusion of this walk rendered it a fit 
scene for confidential communing; and having nothing more inter- 
esting to say to my fair Quaker, I took the liberty of questioning her 
about the laird; for you are, or ought to be, aware, that next to dis- 
cussing the affairs of the heart, the fair sex are most interested in 
those of their neighbors. 

1 did not conceal either my curiosity, or the check which it had 
received from Joshua, and 1 saw that my companion answered with 
embarrassment. “ L must not speak otherwise than truly,” she 
said; 41 and therefore 1 tell thee, that my brother dislikes, and that 
I fear, the man of whom thou hast asked me. Perhaps we are both 
wrong — but he is a man of violence, and hath great influence over 
many, who, following the trade of sailors and fishermen, become as 
rude as the elemeuts with which they contend. He hath no cer- 
tain name among them, which is not unusual, their rude fashion 
being to distinguish each other by nicknames; and they have called 
him the Laird of the Lakes (not remembering there should be no 
one called Lord, save one only), in idle deiision; the pools of salt 
water left by the tide among the sands being called the Lakes of 
Solway.” 

41 Has he no other revenue than he derives from these sands?” I 
asked. 

“That 1 can not answer,” replied Rachel; 44 men say that he 
wants not money, though he lives like an ordinary fisherman, and 
that he imparts freely of his means to the poor around him. They 
intimate that he is a man of consequence, once deeply engaged in 
the unhappy affair of the rebellion, and even still too much in 
danger from the government to assume his own name. He is often 
absent from his cottage at Brokenburn Cliffs, for weeks and 
months.” 

44 1 should have thought,” said 1, “ that the government would 
scarce, at this time of day. be likely to proceed against any one even 
of the most obnoxious rebels. Many years have passed away — ” 

“ It is true,” she replied; 44 yet such persons may understand that 
their being connived at depends on their living in obscurity. But 
indeed there can nothing certain be known among these rude peo- 
ple. The truth is not in them— most of them participate in the un- 
lawful trade betwixt these parts and the neighboring shore of Eng- 
land; and they are familiar with every species of falsehood and 
deceit.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


6 ^ 


“ it is a pity,” 1 remarked, " your brother should have neighbors 
of such a description, especially as 1 understand he is at some vari- 
ance with them.” 

“ Where, when, and about what matter?” answered Miss Geddes, 
with an eager and timorous anxiety, which made me regret having 
touched on the subject. 

I told her, in a way as little alarming as 1 could devise, the pur- 
port of what passed betwixt this Laird of the Lakes and her brother 
at their morning’s interview. 

“ You affright me much,” answered she; “ it is this very circum- 
stance which lias scared me in the watches of the night. When my 
brother Joshua withdrew from an active share in the commercial 
concerns of my father, being satisfied with the portion of worldly 
substance which he already possessed, there were one or two under- 
takings in which he retained an interest, either because his with- 
drawing might have been prejudicial to friends, or because he 
wished to retain some mode of occupying his time. Amongst the 
more important of these is a fishing-station on the coast, where by 
certain improved modes ot erecting snares, opening at the advance 
of the tide, and shutting at the reflux, many more fish are taken 
than can be destroyed by those who, like the men of Brokenburn, 
use only the boat-net and spear, or fishing-rod. They complain of 
these tide-nets, as men call them, as an innovation, and pretend to 
a right to remove and destroy them b^ the strong hand. I fear 
me, this man of violence whom they call the laird, will execute 
these his threats, which can not be without both loss and danger to 
my brother.” 

“ Mr. Geddes,” said 1, “ ought to apply to the civil magistrate; 
there are soldiers at Dumfries who would be detached for his pro- 
tection.” 

‘‘Thou speakest, friend Latimer,” answered the lady, “ as one 
who is still in the gall ot bitterness and bond ot iniquity. God for- 
bid that we should endeavor to preserve nets of flax and stakes of 
wood, or the Mammon of gain which they procure for us, by the 
hands of men of war, and the risk of spilling human blood.” 

“ I respect your scruples,” 1 replied; “but since such is your 
w r ay ot thinking, your brother ought to avert the danger by com- 
promise or submission.” 

“ Perhaps it would be best,” answered Rachel; “ but what can I 
say? Even in the best-trained temper there may remain some leaven 
of the old Adam’; and 1 know not whether it is this or a better spirit 
that maketh my brother Joshua determine that, though he will not 
resist force by force, neither will he yield up his right to mere 
threats, or encourage wrong to others, by yielding to menaces. His 
partners, lie says, confide in his steadiness; and that he must not' 
disappoint them by yielding up their right for the fear of the threats 
ot man, whose breath is in his nostrils.” 

This observation convinced me that the spirit of the old sharers 
of the spoil was not utterly departed even from the bosom ol the 
peaceful Quaker ; and 1 could not help confessing internally that 
Joshua had the right, when he averred that there was as much 
courage in sufferance as in exertion. 

As we approached the further end of the willow walk the sullen 


64 


REDGAUNTLET. 


and continuous sound of t he dashing waters became still more and 
more audible, and at length rendered it difficult for us to commu- 
nicate with each other. The conversation dropped, but apparently 
my companion continued to dwell upon the apprehensions which it 
had excited. At the bottom of the walk we obtained a view of the 
cascade, where the swollen brook flung itself in foam and tumult 
over the natural barrier of rock which seemed in vain to attempt to 
bar its course. 1 gazed with delight, and, turning to express my 
sentiment to my companion, 1 observed that she had folded her 
hands in an attitude of sorrowful resignation, which showed her 
thoughts were far from the scene which lay before her. When she 
saw "that her abstraction was observed, she resumed her former 
placidity of manner; and having given me sufficient time to admire 
this termination of oui sober and secluded walk, proposed that we 
should return to the house through her brother’s farm. “ Even we 
Quakers, as we are called, have our little pride,” she said; “ and 
my brother Joshua would not forgive me, were 1 not to show thee 
the fields which he taketh delight to cultivate, after the newest and 
best fashion; for which 1 promise thee he hath received much praise 
from good judges, as well as some ridicule from those •who think it 
folly to improve on the customs of our ancestors.” 

iVs she spoke, she opened a low door, leading through a moss and 
ivy-covered wall, the boundary of ihe pleasure-ground, into the 
open fields; through which we moved by a convenient path, lead- 
ing, with good taste and simplicity, by stile and hedgerow, through 
pasturage, and arable, and woodland; so that, in all ordinary 
weather, the good man might, without even soiling his shoes, per- 
form his perambulation round the farm. There were seats also, on 
which to rest; and though not adorned with inscriptions, nor quite 
so frequent in occurrence as those mentioned in the account of the 
Leasowes, their situation was always chosen with respect to some 
distant prospect to be commanded, or some home-view to be en- 
joyed. 

But what struck me most in Joshua’s domain was the quantity 
and tameness of the game. The hen partridge scarce abandoned 
the roost at the foot of the hedge where she had assembled her 
covey, though the path went close beside her; and the hare, re- 
maining on her form, gazed at us as we passed, with her full dark 
eye. or rising lazily and hopping to a little distance, stood erect to 
look at us with more curiosity than apprehension. 1 observed to 
JNIiss Geddes the extreme tameness of these timid and shy animals, 
and she informed me that their confidence arose from protection in 
the summer, and relief during the winter. 

“ They are pets,” she said, “ of my brother, who considers them 
as the better entitled to his kindness that they are a race persecuted 
by the world in general. He denieth himself,” she said, “ even the 
company of a dog, that these creatures may here at least enjoy un- 
disturbed security. Yet this harmless or humane propensity, or 
humor, hath given offense,” she added, “ to our dangerous neigh- 
bors. ' ’ 

She explained this by telling me that my host of the preceding 
night was remarkable for his attachment to field sports, which he 
pursued without much regard to the wishes of the individuals over 


REDGAUNTLET. 


65 


whose property he followed them. The undefined mixture of re- 
spect and tear with which he was generally regarded, induced most 
of the neighboring landlords to connive at what they would perhaps 
in another have punished as a trespass; but Joshua Geddes would 
not permit the intrusion of any one upon his piemises, and as he 
had before offended several country neighbors, who, because he 
would neither shoot himself nor permit others to do so, compared 
him to the dog in the manger, so he now aggravated the displeasure 
which the Laird of the Lakes had already conceived against him, 
by positively debarring him from pursuing his sport over his 
grounds — “ So that,” said Eachel Geddes, “ 1 sometimes wish our 
lot had been cast elsewhere than in these pleasant borders, where, if 
we had less of beauty around us, we might have had a neighbor- 
hood of peace and good-will.” 

We at length returned to the house, where Miss Geddes showed 
me a small study, containing a little collection of books, in two 
separate presses. 

“ These,” said she, pointing to the smaller press, “ will, if thou 
bestowest thy leisure upon them, do thee good, and these,” point- 
ing to the other and larger cabinet, “ can, I believe, do thee little 
harm. Some of our people do indeed hold, that every writer who 
is not with us is against us; but brother Joshua is mitigated in his 
opinions, and correspondeth with our friend John Scot of Amwell, 
who hath himself constructed verses well approved of even in the 
woild. 1 wish thee many good thoughts till our family meet at the 
hour of dinner.” 

Left alone, 1 tried both collections; the first consisted entirely of 
religious and controversial tracts, and the latter formed a small 
selection of history and of moral writers, both in prose and verse. 

Neither collection promising much amusement, thou hast, in 
these close pages, the fruit of my lediousness; and truly, 1 think, 
writing history (one’s self being the subject) is as amusing as read- 
ing that of foreign countries at any time. 

Sam, still more drunk than sober, arrived in due time with my 
portmanteau, nnd enabled me to put my dress into order, better be- 
fitting this temple of cleanliness and decorum, where (to conclude) 
1 believe I shall be a sojourner for more days than one.* 

P.S, — 1 have noted your adventure, as your home-bred youths 
may perhaps term it, concerning the visit of your doughty laird. 

* In explanation of this circumstance, I can not help adding a note not very 
necessary for the reader, which yet I record with pleasure, from recollection of 
the kindness which it evinces. In eai’ly youth I resided for a considerable time 
in the vicinity of the beautiful village of Kelso, where my life passed in a very 
solitary manner. I had few acquaintances, scarce any companions, and books, 
which were at the time almost essential to my happiness, were difficult to come 
by. It was then that I was particularly indebted to the liberality and friend- 
ship of an old lady of the Society of Friends, eminent for her benevolence and 
charity. Her deceased husband had been a medical man of eminence, and left 
her, with other valuable property, a small and well-selected library. This the 
kind old lady permitted me to rummage at pleasure, and carry home what 
volumes I chose, on condition that I should take, at the same time, some of the 
tracts printed for encouraging and extending the doctrines of her own sect. 
She did not even exact any promise that I would read these performances, be- 
ing too justly afraid of involving me in a breach of promise, but was merely de- 
sirous that I should have the chance of instruction within my reach, in case 
whim, curiosity, or accident, might induce me to have recourse to it. 


66 


REDGAUNTLET. 


We travelers hold such an incident of no great consequence, though 
it may serve to embellish the uniform life of Brown’s Square. But 
art thou not ashamed to attempt to interest one who is seeing the 
world at large, and studying human nature on a large scale, by so 
bald a narrative? Why, wiiat does it amount to, after all, but that 
a Tory laird dined with a Whig lawyer? no very uncommon matter, 
especially as you state Mr. Herries to have lost the estate, though 
retaining the designation. The laird behaves with haughtiness and 
impertinence — nothing out of character in that: is not kicked down- 
stairs, as he ought to have been, were Alan Fairford half the man 
that be would wish his friends to think him. Ay, but then, as the 
young lawyer, jnstead of showing his friend the door, chose to 
make use of it himself, he overheard the laird aforesaid ask the old 
lawyer concerning Darsie Latimer — no doubt earnestly inquiring 
after- the handsome, accomplished inmate of his family, who has so 
lately made Themis his bow, and declined the honor of following 
her further. You laugh at me for my air-drawn castles; but con- 
fess, have they not surer footing, in general, than two words spoken 
by such a man as Herries? And yet — and yet — 1 would rally tbe 
matter off, Alan; but in dark nights, even the glow-worm becomes 
an object of luster, and to one plunged in my uncertainty and 
ignorance, the slightest gleam that promises intelligence, is interest- 
ing. My life is like the subterranean river in the Peak of Derby, 
visible only where it crosses the celebrated cavern. 1 am here, and 
this much 1 know; but where I have sprung from, or whither my 
course of life is like to tend, who shall tell me? Your father, too, 
seemed interested and alarmed, and talked of writing; would to 
Heaven he may! 1 send daily to the post-town for letters. 


LETTER VIII. 

ALAN FAIRFORD TO DARSIE LATIMER. 

Thou mayst clap thy wings and crow as thou pleasest. Y ou go 
in search of adventures, but adventures come to me unsought for: 
and oh! in what a pleasing shape came mine, since it arrived in the 
form ol a client— and a lair client to boot! What think you of 
that, Darsie! you who are sucii a sworn squire of dames? Will 
this not match my adventures with thine, that hun{ salmon on 
horseback, and will it not, besides, eclipse the history of a whole 
tribe of Broadbrims? But I must proceed methodically. 

When I returned to-day from the cottage 1 was surprised to see a 
broad grin distending the adust countenance of the laithful James 
Wilkinson, which, as the circumstance seldom happens above once 
a year, was matter of some surprise. Moreover, he had a knowing 
glancing with his eye, which I should have as soon expected from a 
dumb-waiter— an article of furniture to which James, in his usual 
state, may be happily assimilated. “ What the devil is the matter, 
James?” 

“ The devil may be in the matter for aught I keD,” said James, 
vi ith another provoking grin; “ for here has been a woman calling 
for you, Master Alan.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


67 


“ A woman calling for me?” said 1 in surprise; for you know 
well, that excepting old Aunt Peggy, who comes to dinner of a 
Sunday, and tlie still older Lady Bedrooket, who calls ten times a 
year for the quarterly payment of her jointure of four hundred 
merks, a female scarce approaches our threshold, as my father visits 
all his female clients at their own lodgings. James protested, how- 
ever, that there had been a lady calling, and for me. ” As bonny a 
lass as 1 have seen,” added James, since I was in the Fusileers, 
and kept company with Peg Baxter.” Thou knowest all James’s 
gay recollections go back to the period of his military service, the 
years he has spent in ours having probably been dull enough. 

‘ ‘ Did the lady leave no name nor place of address?” 

“No,” replied James; “but she asked when you wad be at 
hame, and 1 appointed her for twelve o’clock, when the house wad 
be quiet, and your father at the bank.” 

“For shame, James! how can you think my father’s being at 
home or abroad could be of consequence? The lady is of course a 
decent person?” 

“ 1’se uphaud her that, sir — she is nane of your — wliew ” (here 
James supplied a blank with a low whistle)—” but I didna ken— 
my maister makes an unco wark it a woman come here.” 

1 passed into my own room, not ill pleased that my father was 
absent, notwithstanding 1 had thought it proper to rebuke James 
for having so contrived it. 1 disarranged my books, to give them 
the appearance of a graceful confusion on the table, and laying my 
foils (useless since your departure) across the mantel-piece, that the 
lady might see 1 was lam Marie qaam Mercurio — 1 endeavored to 
dispose my dress so as to resemble an elegant morning dishabille — 
gave my hair the general shade of powder which marks the gentle- 
man — laid my watch and seals on the table, to hint that I understood 
the value of time; — and when 1 had marie all these arrangements, of 
which 1 am a little ashamed when I think of them, 1 had nothing 
better to do than to watch the dial-plate till the index pointed to 
noon. Five minutes elapsed, which I allowed for variation of 
clocks — five minutes more rendered me anxious and doubtful— and 
five mrnutes more would have made me impatient. 

Laugh as thou wilt; but remember, Darsie, I was a lawyer ex- 
pecting his first client— a young man, how strictly bred up 1 need 
not remind you, expecting a private interview with a young and 
beautiful woman. But, ere the third term of five minutes had 
elapsed, the door-bell was heard to tinkle low and modestly, as if 
touched by some timid hand. 

James Wilkinson, swift in nothing, is, as thou knowest, peculiarly 
slow in answering the door-bell; and 1 reckoned on five minutes 
good, ere his solemn step should have ascended the stairs. Time 
enough, thought 1, for a peep through the blinds, and was hasten- 
ing to the window acordingly. But 1 reckoned without my host; 
for James, who had his own curiosity as well as 1, was lying perdu 
in the lobby, ready to open at the first tinkle; and there was, “ This 
way, ma’am- -yes, ma’am — the lady, Mr. Alan,” before 1 could get 
to the chair in which 1 proposed to be discovered, seated in all legal 
dignity. The consciousness of being half caught in the act of peep- 
ing, joined to that native air of awkward bashfulness of which 1 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


68 

am told the law will soon free me, kept me standing on the floor in 
some confusion; while the lady, disconcerted on her part, remained 
on the thr eshold of the room. James Wilkinson, who had his senses 
most about him, and was perhaps willing to prolong his stay in the 
apartment, busied himself in setting a chair for the lady, and re- 
called me to my good b feeding by the hint. 1 invited her to take 
possession of it, and bid James^withdraw. 

My visitor was undeniably a lady, and probably considerably 
above the ordinary rank — very modest, too, judging from the mixt- 
ure of grace and timidity with which she moved, and at my entreaty 
sat down. Her dress was, 1 should suppose, both handsome and 
fashionable; but it was much concealed by a walking-cloak of green 
silk, fancifully embroidered; in which, though heavy for the sea- 
son, her person was enveloped, and which, moreover, was furnished 
with a hood. 

The devil take that hood, Darsie, for I was just able to distinguish 
that, pulled as it was over the face, it concealed from me, as 1 was 
convinced, one of the prettiest countenances 1 have seen, and 
which, from a sense of embarrassment, seemed to be crimsoned with 
a deep blush. 1 could see her complexion was beautiful— her chin 
finely turned— her lips coral — and her teeth rivals to ivory. But 
further the deponent sayeth not; for a clasp of gold, ornamented 
with a sapphire, closed the envious mantle under the incognita’s 
throat, and the cursed hood concealed entirely the upper part of the 
face. 

1 ought to have spoke first, that is certain; but ere 1 could get my 
phrases well arranged, the young lady, rendered desperate, 1 sup- 
pose, by my hesitation, opened the conversation herself. 

“ 1 fear I am an intruder, sir — I expected to meet an elderly gen- 
tleman.” 

This brought me to myself. “ My father, madam, perhaps. But 
you inquired for Alan Fairford — my father’s name is Alexander.” 

“ It is Mr. Alan Fairford, undoubtedly, with whom 1 wished to 
speak,” she said, with greater confusion; “ but 1 was told that he 
was advanced in life.” 

“ Some mistake, madetm, I presume, betwixt my father and myself 
— our Christian names have the same initials, though the termina- 
tions are different. 1—1 — 1 would esteem it a most fortunate mis- 
take if 1 could have the honor of supplying my father’s place in 
anything that could be of service to you.” 

“ You are very obliging, sir.” A pause during which she seemed 
undetermined whether to rise or sit still. 

“I am just about to be called to the bar, madam,” said 1, in 
hopes to remove her scruples to open her case to me; “ and if my ad- 
vice or opinion could be of the slightest use, although 1 can not 
presume to say that they are much to be depended upon, yet—” 

The lady arose, ‘‘lam truly sensible of your kindness, sir, and 
1 have no doubt of your talents. 1 will be very plain with you— it 
is you whom 1 came to visit; although, now that we have met, 1 
find it will be much better than 1 should commit my communication 
to writing.” 

“ 1 hope, madam, you will not be so cruel— so tantalizing, 1 would 
say. Consider, you are my first, client— your business my first con- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


69 


sultation~do not do me the displeasure of withdrawing your confi- 
dence because 1 am a few years younger than you seem to have ex- 
pected — my attention shall make s mends for my want of experi- 
ence. ’ ’ 

“ I have no doubt of either,” said the lady, in a grave tone, cal- 
culated to restrain the air of gallantry with which I had endeavored 
to address her. “ But when you have received my letter you will 
find good reasons assigned why a written communication will best 
suit my purpose. 1 wish you, sir, a good-morning.” And she left 
the apartment, her poor baffled counsel scraping, and bowing, and 
apologizing for anything that might have been disagreeable to her, 
although the front of my offense seems to be my having been dis- 
covered to be younger than my father.* 

The door was opened — out she went — walked along the pavement, 
turned down the close, and put the sun, I believe, into her pocket 
when she disappeared, so suddenly did dullness and darkness sink 
down on the square, when she was no longer visible. 1 stood for a 
moment as it 1 had been senseless, not recollecting what a fund of 
entertainment I must have supplied to our watchful friends on the 
other side of the green. Then it darted on my mind that I might 
dog her, and ascertain at least who or what she was. Off 1 set — • 
ran down the close, w T here she was no longer to be seen, and de- 
manded of one of the dyer’s lads whether he had seen a lady go 
down the close, or had observed which way she turned. 

• ‘ A leddy!” — said the dyer, staring at me with his rainbow coun- 
tenance. ” Mr. Alan, what takes you out, rinning like daft, with- 
out your hat?” 

‘‘The devil take my hat!” answered 1, running back, however, 
in quest of it; snatched it up, and again sallied forth. But as 1 
reached the head of the close once more, 1 had sense enough to 
recollect that all pursuit would be now in vain. Besides, 1 saw my 
friend, the journeyman dyer, in close confabulation with a pea- green 
personage of his own proftssion, and was conscious, like Scrub, that 
they talked of me, because they laughed consumedly. I had no 
mind, by a second sudden appearance, to confirm the report that Ad- 
vocate Pairford was “ gaen daft,” which had probably spread from 
Campbell’s Close-foot to the Mealmarket Stairs; and so slunk back 
within my own hole again. 

My first employment was to remove all traces of that elegant and 
fanciful disposition of my effects, from which 1 had hoped for so 
much credit, for I was now ashamed and angry at having thought 
an instant upon the mode of receiving a visit which had commenced 
so agreeably, but terminated in a manner so unsatisfactory. 1 put 
my folios in their places — threw the foils into the dressing-closet — 
tormenting myself all the while with the fruitless doubt, whether I 
had missed an opportunity or escaped a stiatagem, or whether the 
young person had been really startleci, as she seemed to intimate, by 
the extreme youth of her intended legal adviser. The mirror was 
not unnaturally called in to aid; and that cabinet-counselor pro- 
nounced me rather short, thick-set, with a cast of features fitter, 1 
trust, for the bar than the ball— not handsome enough for blushing 


* See note on page 11. 


70 


REDGAUNTLET. 


virgins to pine for iny sake, or even to invent sham cases to bring 
them to my chambers— yet not ugly enough either to scare those 
away who came on real business— dark, to be sure, but —nigri sunt 
hyacinthi — there are pretty things to be said in favor of that com- 
plexion. 

At length— as common-sense will get the better in all cases, when 
a man will but give it fair play— 1 began to stand convicted in 
my own mind, as an ass before the interview for having expected too 
much— an ass during the interview, tor having failed to extract the 
lady’s real purpose — and an especial ass, now that it was over, for 
thinking so much about it. But 1 can think of nothing else, and there- 
fore 1 am determined to think of this to some good purpose. 

You remember Murtough O’Hara’s defense of the Catholic doclrine 
of confession; because, “ by his soul, his sins were always a great 
burden to his mind till he had told them to the priest; and, "once con- 
fessed, he never thought more about them.” I have tried his re- 
ceipt, therefore; and having poured my secret mortification into thy 
trusty ear, 1 will think no more about this maid of the mist, 

Who, with no face, as ’twere, outfaced me.” 
******* 

Four o’clock. 

Plague on her green mantle, she can be nothing better thau a 
fairy; she keeps possession of my head yet. All during dinner-time 
1 was terribly absent; but, luckily, my father gave the whole credit 
of my reverie to the abstract nature of the doctrine, Vinco 
mncentem , ergo vinco te; upon which brocard of law the professor 
this morning lectured. So 1 got an early dismissal to my own crib, 
and here am 1 studying, in one sense, vincere mncentem , to get the 
better of the silly passion of curiosity— 1 think— 1 think it amounts 
to nothing else— which has taken such possession of my imagination, 
and is perpetually wonying me with the question— Will she write or 
no? She will not— she will not! So says Beason, and adds, Why 
should she take the trouble to enter into correspondence with one 
who, instead of a bold, alert, prompt gallant, proved a chicken- 
hearted boy, and left her the whole awkwardness of explanation, 
which he should have met half-way? But then, says Fancy, she 
will write, for she was not a bit that sort of person whom you, Mr. 
Beason, in your, wisdom, take her to be. She was disconcerted 
enough, without my adding to her distress by any impudent con- 
duct on my part. And she will write, tor— By Heaven, she has 
written, Darsie, and with a vengeance! Here is her letter, thrown 
into the kitchen by a cadie, too faithful to he bribed, either by 
money or whisky, to say more than that he received it, with six- 
pence, from an ordinary-looking woman, as he was plying his sta- 
tion near the Cross. 

“FOR ALAN FAIUFORD, ESQUIRE, BARRISTER. 

“ Sir,— Excuse my mistake of to-day. 1 had accidentally learned 
that Mr. Darsie Latimer had an intimate friend and associate in Mr. 
A. Fairford. When 1 inquired for such a person, he was pointed out 
to me at the Cross (as 1 think the Exchange of your city is called), 
in the character of a respectable elderly man — your father, as 1 now 


REDGAUNTLET. 


71 


understand. On inquiry at Brown’s Square, where I understood 
he resided, 1 used the full name of Alan, which naturally occasioned 
you the trouble of this day's visit. Upon further inquiry, I am led 
to believe that you are likely to be the person most active in the 
matter to which 1 am now about to direct your attention ; and I re- 
gret much that circumstances, arising out of my own particular sit- 
uation, prevent my communicating to you personally what 1 now 
apprise you of in this matter! 

“ Your friend, ]\lr. Darsie Latimer, is in a situation of considera- 
ble danger. You are doubtless aware that he has been cautioned 
not to trust himself in England. Now, it he has not absolutely 
transgressed this friendly injunction, he has at least approached as 
neaily to the menaced danger as he could do, consistently with the 
letter of the prohibition. He has chosen his abode in a neighbor- 
hood very perilous to him; and it. is only by a speedy return to 
Edinburgh, or at least, by a removal to some more remote part of 
Scotland, that he can escape the machinations of those whose enmity 
he has to fear. 1 must speak in mystery, but my words are not the 
less certain; and, 1 believe, you know enough of your friend’s fort- 
unes to be aware that 1 could uot write this much without being 
even more intimate with them than you are. 

“If he can not or will not take the advice here given, it is my 
opinion that you should join him, it possible, without delay, and 
urge, by your personal presence and entreaty, the arguments which 
may prove ineffectual in writing. One word more, and I implore 
of your candor to take it as it is meant. No one supposes that 
Mr. Fairford’s zeal in his friend’s service needs to be quickened by 
meicenary motives. But report says that Mr. Alan Fail ford, not 
having yet entered on his professional career, may, in such a case 
as this, want the means, though he can not want the inclination, to 
act with promptitude. The inclosed note Mr. Alan Fairford must 
be pleased to consider as his first professional emolument; and she 
who sends it hopes it will be the omen of unbounded success, 
though the fee comes from a hand so unknowm as that of 

“Green Mantle.” 

A bank note of £20 Was the inclosure, and the whole incident 
left me speechless with astonishment. I am not able to read over 
the beginning of my ow r n letter, which forms the introduction to 
this extraordinary communication. I only know that, though 
mixed with a quantity of foolery (God knows very much different 
from my present feelings), it gives an account sufficiently accurate 
of the mysterious person from whom this letter comes, and that 1 
have neither time nor patience to separate the absurd commentary 
from the text, which it is so necessary you should know. 

Combine this warning, so strangely conveyed, with the caution 
impressed on you by your London correspondent, Griffith, against 
your visiting England— with the character of your Laird of the Sol- 
wav Lakes— with the lawless habits of the people on that frontier 
country, where warrants are not easily executed, owing to the jeal- 
ousy entertained by either country of the legal interference ol the 
other; remember that even Sir John Fielding said to my father that 
he could never trace a rogue beyond the Briggend of Dumfries— 


REDGAUNTLET. 


72 

think that the distinctions of Whig and Tory, Papist and Protestant, 
still keep that country in a loose and comparatively lawless state 
—think of all this, my dearest Darsie, and remember that, while at 
this Mount Sharon of your*, you are residing with a family actually 
menaced with forcible interference, and who, while their obstinacy 
provokes violence, are by principle bound to abstain from resist- 
ance. 

Nay, let me tell you, professionally, that the legality of the mode 
of fishing practiced by your friend Joshua is greatly doubted by 
our best lawyers; and that, if the stake-nets be considered as actu- 
ally an unlawful obstruction raised in the channel of the estuary, an 
assembly of persons who shall proceed, via facii, to pull down and 
destroy them, would not, in the eye of the law, be esteemed guilty 
of a riot. So, by remaining where you are, you are likely to be 
engaged in a quarrel with which you have nothing to do, and thus 
to enable your enemies, whoever these may be, to execute, amid the 
confusion of a general hubbub, whatever designs they may have 
against your personal safety. Black-fishers, poachers, and smug- 
glers, are a sort of gentry that will not be much checked, either by 
your Quaker’s texts or by your chivalry. If you are Don Quixote 
enough to lay lance in rest, in defense of those of the stake-net and 
of the sad-colored garment, J pronounce you but a lost knight; for, 
as 1 said before, 1 doubt if these potent redressers of wrongs, the 
justices and constables, will hold themselves warranted to interfere. 
In a word, return, my dear Amadis; the adventure of the Solway 
nets is not reserved for your worship. Come back, and 1 will be 
your faithful Sanclio Panzo upon a more hopeful quest. We wi 1 
beat about together in search of this Urganda, the Unknown— she 
of the Green Mantle, who can read this, the liddle of thy fate, bet- 
ter than wise Eppie of Buckhaven,* or Cassandra herself. 

1 would fain tiifle, Darsie, tor, in debating with you, jests will 
sometimes go further than arguments; but 1 am sick at heart and 
can not keep the ball up. If you have a moment’s regard for the 
friendship w r e have so often vowed to each other, let my wishes for 
once prevail over your own venturous and romantic temper. 1 am 
quite serious in thinking that the information communicated to my 
father by this Mr. Berries, and the admonitory letter of the young 
lady, bear upon each other; and that, were you here, you might 
learn something from one or other, or from both, that might throw T 
light on your birth and parentage. You will not surely prefer an 
idle whim to the prospect which is thus held out to you. 

1 would, agreeably to the hint 1 have received in the young lady’s 
letter (for 1 am confident that such is her condition), have eie now- 
been with you to urge these things, instead of pouring them out 
upon paper. But you know that the day for my trials is appointed 
— I have already gone through the form of being introduced to the 
examinators, and have gotten my titles assigned me. All this should 
not keep me at home, but my father w-ould view r any irregulaiity 
upon this occasion as a mortal blow to the hopes which he has 
cherished most fondly during his life — viz., my being called to the 
bar with some credit. For my own part, 1 know there is no great 


* Well known in the Chap-Book, called the History of Buckhaven. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


73 

difficulty in passing these formal examinations, else how have some 
of our acquaintance got through them? But, to my father, these 
formalities compose an august and serious solemnity, to which he 
has long looked forward, and my absenting myself at this moment 
would w ell-nigli drove him distracted. Yet I shall go altogether 
distracted myself if 1 have not an instant assurance from you that 
you are hastening hither — meanwhile 1 have desired Hannah to 
get your little crib into the test order possible. I can not learn that 
iny father has yet written to you, nor has he spoken more of his 
communication with Birrenswork; but when 1 let him have some 
inkling of the dangers you are at present incurring, 1 know my 
request that you will return immediately will have his cordial sup- 
port. 

Another reason yet— 1 must give a dinner, as usual, upon my ad- 
mission, to our friends; and my father, laying aside all his usual 
considerations of economy, has desired it may be in the best style 
possible. Come hither, then, dear Darsie or, 1 protest to you, X 
shall send examination, admission dinner, and guests to the devil, 
and come, in person, to fetch you with a vengeance. Thine, in 
much anxiety. A. F. 


LETTER IX. 

ALEXANDER FAIRFORD, W. S. , TO MR. DARSIE LATIMER. 

Dear Mr. Darsie, — having been your factor loco tutoris , or 
rather, I ought to say in correctness (since 1 acted without warrant 
from the Conit), your negotiorum gestor; that connection occasions 
my present writing. And although having rendered an account 
of my intromissions, which have been regularly approved of, not 
only by youiself (whom I could not pievail upon to'look at more 
than the docket and sum total), but also by the worthy Mr. Samuel 
Griffiths of London, being the hand through whom the remittances 
were made, 1 may, in some sense, be considered as to you functus 
officio; yet, tD speak facetiously, 1 trust you will not hold me ac- 
countable as a vicious intromitter, should 1 still consider myself as 
occasionally interested in your welfare. My motives for writing at 
this time are twofold. 

1 have met with a Mr. Herries of Birrenswork, a gentleman of 
very ancient descent, but who hath in time past been in difficulties, 
nor do I know it his affairs are yet well redd. Birrenswork says 
that he believes he was very familiar with your father, whom lie 
states to have been called Ralph Latimer of Langcote Hall, in 
Westmoreland; and he mentioned family affairs, which it maybe 
of the highest importance to you to be acquainted with; but as he 
seemed to decline communicating them to me, I could not civilly 
urge him thereanent. Thus much 1 know 7 , that Mr. Herries had. 
his own share in the late desperate and unhappy matter of 1745, and 
was in trouble about it, although that is probably now over. More- 
over, although he did Dot profess the Popish religion openly, he had 
an eye that way. And both of these are reasons why 1 have hesi- 
tated to recommend him to a youth w T ho may be hath not altogether 
so well founded his opiniops concerning Kirk and State, that they 


REDGAUNTLET. 


74 

might not be changed by some sudden wind of doctrine. For I 
have observed ye, Master Darsie, to be rather tinctured with the old 
leaven of prelacy — this under your leave; and although God forbid 
that you should i be in any manner disaffected to the Protestant 
Hanoverian line, yet ye have ever loved to hear the bawling, blazing 
stories which the Hieland gentlemen tell of those troublous times, 
which, if it were their will, they had better pretermit, as tending 
rather to shame than to honor. It is come to me also by a side 
wind, as 1 may sa 3 r , that you have been neighboring more than was 
nredful among some of the pestilent sect of Quakers — a people who 
own neither priest, nor king, nor civil magistrate, nor the fabric of 
our law, and will not depone either in civilibus or criminalibus, be 
the loss to the lieges what it may. Anent which heresies, it were 
good ye read “ The Snake in the Grass,” or, “ The Foot out of the 
Snare,”* being both well-approved tracts touching these doctrines. 

Now, Mr. Darsie, ye are to judge for yourself whether ye can 
safely to your soul’s weal remain longer among these Papists and 
Quakers; these detections on the light hand, and fallings away on 
the left; and truly, if you can confidently resist these evil examples 
of doctrine, 1 think ye may as well tarry in the bounds where ye 
are, until you see Mr. Herries of Bitrenswork, who does assuredly 
know more of your matteis than I thought had been communicated 
to any man in Scotland. 1 would fain have precognosced him my- 
self on these affairs, but found him unwilling to speak out, as 1 
have partly intimated before. 

To call a new cause— 1 have the pleasure to tell you that Alan 
has passed his private Scots Law examinations with good approba- 
tion— a great relief to my mind; especially as worthy Mr. Pest told 
me in my ear there was no fear of “ the callant,” as he familiarly 
called him, which gives me great heart. His public trials, which 
are nothing in comparison save a mere form, are to take place, by 
order of the Honorable Dean of Faculty, on Wednesday first: and 
on Friday he puts on the gown, and gives a bit chack of dinner to 
his friends and acquaintances, as is you know the custom. Your 
company will be wished for there, Master Darsie, by more than 
him, which 1 regret to think is impossible to have, as well by your 
engagements, as that our cousin, Peter Fail ford, comes from the 
West on purpose, and we have no place to offer him but your cham- 
ber in the wall. And to be plain with you after my use and wont, 
Master Darsie, it may be as well that Alan and you do not meet till 
he is hefted as it were to his new calling. You are a pleasant gen- 
tleman, and full of daffing, which may well become you, as you 
have enough (as 1 understand) to uphold .your merry humor. If 
you regard the matter wisely, you would perchance consider that a 
man of substance should have a douce and staid demeanor; yet you 
are so far from growing grave and considerate with the increase of 
your annual income, that the richer you become the merrier 1 think 
you grow. But this must be at your own pleasure, so tar as you 
are concerned. Alan, however (overpassing my small savings), lias 
the world to yv in ; and louping and laughing, as you and he were 
wont to do, would soon make the powder flee out of his wig, and 


* [By Charles Leslie, an English Nonjuring divine, who died in 1722.] 


IlEDGAUjfrLET. 


75 

the pence out of liis pocket. Nevertheless, 1 trust you will meet 
when you return from your rambles,; for there is a time, as the wise 
man sayeth, tor gathering, and a time for casting away; it is always 
the part of a man of sense to take the gathering time first. 1 re- 
main, dear sir, you well-wishing friend, and obedient to command, 

Alexander Fair ford. 

P. S. — Alan’s Ihesis is upon the title De periculo et commodo vei 
venditie, an:l is a very pretty piece of Latinity. Ross House, in our 
neighborhood, is nearly finished, and is thought to excel Duff House 
in ornature.* 

LETTER X. 

DARSIE LATIMER TO ALAN FAIRFORD. 

The plot thickens, Alan, I have your letter, and also one from 
your father. The last makes it impossible for me to comply with 
the kind request which the former urges. No— I can not be with 
you, Alan; and that, for the best of all leasons— 1 can not and 
ought not to counteract your father’s anxious wishes. I do not 
take it unkind of him that he desires my absence. It is natural 
that he should wish ior his son what his son so well deserves— the 
advantage of a wiser and steadier companion than I seem to him. 
And yet 1 am sure 1 have often labored hard enough to acquire that 
decency of demeanor which can no more be suspected of breaking 
bounds, than an owl of catching a butterfly. 

But it was in vain that 1 have knitted my brows till 1 had the 
headache, in order to acquire the reputation of a grave, solid, and 
well-judging youth. Your father always has discovered, or thought 
that he discovered, a hare-brained eccentricity lying folded among 
the wrinkles of my forehead, which rendered me a perilous associ- 
ate for the future counselor and ultimate judge. Well, Corporal 
Nym’s philosophy must be my comfort—* 1 Things must be as they 
may.” 1 can not come to your father’s house, where he wishes not 
to see me; and as to your coming hither— by all that is dear to me, 
1 vow that if you are guilty of such a piece of reckless folly— not to 
say undutiful cruelty, considering your father’s thoughts and wishes 
—I will never speak to you again as long as I live! I am perfectly 
serious. And besides, your father, while he in a manner prohibits 
me from returning to Edinburgh, gives me the strongest reasons for 
continuing a little while longer in this country, by holding out the 
hope that L may receive from your old friend, Mr. Herries of Bir- 
renswork, some particulars concerning my origin, with which that 
ancient recusant seems to be acquainted. 

That gentleman mentioned the name of a family in Westmore- 
land, with which he supposes me connected. My inquiries here 
after such a family have been ineffectual, for the borderers, on 
either side, know little of each other. But 1 shall doubtless find 


* [Mr. Lockhart, referring to the above, says it is easy for us to imagine who 
the original of the Alan in this letter was. He also informs us that when the 
Author “passed” advocate the real Darsie (William Clerk) was present at the 
real Alan's “ bit chack of dinner,” and the real Alexander Fair ford, W. S. 
(Scott’s father), was very joyous on the occasion. Scott’s Thesis , on the same 
occasion, was, in fact, on the Title of the Pandects, “Concerning the disposal 
of the dead bodies of criminals.”— See the reference to Yoet, p. &).] 


RE Dd AUNTLET. 


76 

some English person of whom to make inquiries, since the con- 
founded fetterlock clapped on my movements by old Griffiths pre- 
vents me repairing to England in person. At least, the prospect of 
obtaining some information is greater here than elsewhere; it will be 
an apology for making a longer stay in this neighborhood, a line of 
conduct which seems to have your father’s sanction, whose opinion 
must be sounder than that of your wandering damoselle. 

If the road were paved with dangers which leads to such a dis- 
covery, I can not for a moment hesitate to tread it. But in fact 
there is no peril in the case. If the Tritons of the Solway shall 
proceed to pull down honest Joshua’s tide-nets, 1 am neither Quixote 
enough in disposition, nor Goliath enough in person, to attempt 
their protection. I have no idea of attempting to prop a falling 
house, by putting my shoulders against it. And indeed, Joshua 
gave me a hint, that the company which he belongs to, injured in 
tiie way threatened (some of them being men who thought after the 
fashion of the world), would pursue the rioters at law, and recover 
damages, in which probably his own ideas of non-resistance will 
not prevent his participating. Therefore the whole affair will take 
its course as law will, as 1 only mean to interfere when it ma}' be 
necessary to direct the course of the plaintiffs to thy chambers; and 
1. request they may find thee intimate with all the Scottish statutes 
concerning salmon-fisheries, from the Lex Aquarum, downward. 

As for the Lad}' of the Mantle, 1 will lay a wager that the sun so 
bedazzled thine eyes on that memorable morning, that everything 
thou didst look upon seemed green; and notwithstanding James 
Wilkinson’s experience in the Eusileers, as well as his negative 
whistle, 1 will venture to hold a crown that she is but a wliat-sliall- 
l-call-’um after all. Let not even the gold persuade you to the con- 
trary. She may make .a shift to cause you to disgorge that, and 
(immense spoil!) a session’s fees to boot, if you look not all the 
sharper about you. Or if it should be otherwise, and if indeed 
there lurk some mystery under this visitation, credit me, it is one 
which thou canst not penetrate, nor can 1 as yet even attempt to 
explain it, since, if 1 prove mistaken, and mistaken 1 may easily be, 
1 would be fain to creep into Phalaris’s bull, were it standing be- 
fore me ready heated, rather than be roasted with thy raillery. Do 
not tax me With want of confidence; for the instant 1 can throw 
any light on the matter thou shalt have it; but while 1 am only 
blundering about in the dark, 1 do not choose to call wise folks 
to see me, perchance, break my nose against a post. So if you mar- 
vel at this, 

“ E’en marvel on till time makes all tilings plain.” 

In the meantime, kind Alan, let me proceed in my diurnal. 

On the third or fourth day after my arrival at Mount Sharon, 
Time, that bald sexton to whom 1 have just referred you, did cer- 
tainly limp more heavily along with me’ than he had "done at first. 
The quaint morality of Joshua, and Huguenot simplicity of his 
sister, began to lose much of their raciness with their novelty, and 
my mode of life, by dint of being very tpiier, began to feel abomina- 
bly dull. It was, as thou say’st, as if the Quakers had put the sun 
in their pockets— all around was soft and mild, and even pleasant; 
but there was, in the whole routine, aunifoimity, a want of interest, 


REDGAUNTLET. 


77 


a helpless and hopeless languor, which rendered life insipid. No 
doubt, my worthy host and hostess felt none of this void, this want 
of excitation, which was becoming oppressive to their guest. They 
had their little round of occupations, charities, and pleasures; 
Rachel had her poultry-yard and conservatory, and Joshua his gar- 
den. Besides this, they enjoyed, doubtjess, their devotional medi- 
tations; and on the whole, time glided^ softly and imperceptibly on 
with them, though to me, who long for stream and cataract, it 
seems absolutely to stand still. 1 meditated returning to Shepherd’s 
Bush, and began to think, with some hankering, after little Benjie 
and the rod. The imp has ventured hither, and hovers about to 
catch a peep of me now and then; 1 suppose the little sharper is 
angling for a few more sixpences. But this would have been, in 
Joshua’s eyes, a return of the washed sow to wallowing in the mire, 
and 1 resolved, while 1 remained his guest, to spare him so violent 
a shock to his prejudices. The next point was to shorten the time 
of my proposed stay; but, alasl that 1 felt to be equally impossible. 
I had named a week; and however rashly my promise had been 
pledged, it must be held sacred, even according to the letter, from 
which the Friends permit no deviation. 

All these considerations wrought me up to a kind of impatience 
yesterday evening; so that 1 snatched up my hat, and prepared for 
a sally beyond the cultivated farm and ornamented grounds of Mount 
Shaion, just as if 1 were desirous to escape from the realms of art 
into those of free and unconstrained nature. 

1 was scarcely more delighted when 1 first entered this peaceful 
demesne, than 1 now was— such is the instability and inconsistency 
of human nature! — when I escaped from it to the open downs, 
which had formerly seemed so waste and dreary. The air 1 breathed 
felt purer and more bracing. The clouds, riding high upon a sum- 
mer breeze, drove, in gay succession, over my head, now obscuring 
the sun, now letting its rays stream in transient flashes upon vari- 
ous parts of the landscape, and especially upon the broad mirror of 
the distant Firth of Solway. 

1 advanced on the scene with the light step of a liberated captive, 
and, like John Bunyan’s Pilgrim, could have found in my heart to 
sing as 1 went on my way. It seemed as if my gayety had accumu- 
lated while suppressed, and that. 1 was, in my present joyous mood, 
entitled to expend the savings of the previous week. But just as 1 
was about to uplift a merry stave, 1 heard, to my joyful surprise, 
the voices of three or more choristers, singing, with considerable 
success, the lively old catch, 

“ For all our men were very, very merry, 

And all our men were drinking: 

There were two men of mine, 

Three men of thine, 

And three that belonged to old Sir Thom o’ Lyne; 

As they went to the ferry, they were very, very merry, 

And all our men were drinking.”* 

* The original of this catch is to be found in Cowley’s witty comedy of the 
Guardian, the first edition. It does not exist in the second and revised edition, 
called the Cutter of Coleman Street. 

“ Captain Blade. Ha, ha, boys, another 1 catch. 

‘ And all our men were very, veiy merry, . 


REDGAUNTLET. 


As tlie chorus ended, there followed a loud and hearty laugh by 
way of cheers. Attracted by sounds which were so congenial to 
my present feelings, 1 made toward the spot from which tliey came 
—cautiously, however, for the downs, as had been repeatedy hinted 
to me, had no good name; and the attraction of the music, without 
rivaling that of the sirens in melody, might have been followed by 
similarly inconvenient consequences to an incautious amateur. 

I crept on, therefore, trusting that the sinuosities of the ground, 
broken as it was into knolls and sand-pits, would permit me to ob- 
tain a sight of the musicians before 1 should be observed by them. 
As 1 advanced the old ditty was again raised. The voices seemed 
those of a man and two boys; they were rough, but kept good 
time, and were managed with too much skill to belong to the ordi- 
nary country people. 

“ Jack looked at the sun, and cried Fire, fire, fire! 

Tom stabled his keffel in Birkendale mire; 

Jem started a calf, and halloo’d for a stag; 

Will mounted a gate-post instead of his nag: 

For all our men were very, very merry. 

And all our men were drinking; 

There were two men of mine, 

Three men of thine, 

And three that belonged to old Sir Thom o’ Lyne; 

As they went to the ferry, they were very, very merry, 

For all our men were drinking.” 

The voices, as they mixed in their several parts, and ran through 
them, untwistiog and again entwining all the links of the meriy 
old catch, seemed to have a little touch of the bacchanalian spirit 
which they celebiated, and showed plainly that the musicians w T ere 
engaged in the same joyous revel as the menyie of Old Sii Thom o’ 
Lyne. At length 1 came within sight of them, three in number, 
where they sat cozily niched into what you might call a bunker, a 
little sand-pit, dry and snug, and surrounded by its banks, and a 
screen of whins in full bloom. 

The only one of the trio whom I recognized as a personal ac- 
quaintance was tlie notorious little Benjie, who, having just fin- 
ished his stave, was cramming a huge luncheon of pie-crust into 
his mouth with one hand, while in the other he held a foaming 
tankard, his eyes dancing with all the glee of a forbidden revel; 
and his features, which have at all times a mischievous archness of 
expression, confessing the full sweetneBS of stolen waters, and bread 
eaten in secret. 

There was no mistaking the profession of the male and female. 


‘ And all our men were drinking. 

Cutter. ‘ One man of mine. 

Dogrel. 4 Two men of mine. 

Blade. 4 Three men of mine. 

Cutter. 4 And one pian of mine. 

Omnes. 1 As we went by the way we were drunk, drunk, dam- 
nably drunk, 

4 And all our men were very, very merry,’ ” etc. 

Such are the words, which are somewhat altered and amplified in the text. 
The play was acted in presence of Charles II., then Prince of Wales, in 1041. 
The catch in the text has been happily set to music. 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


79 

who were partners with Benjie in these merry doings. The man’s 
long loose-bodied great-coat (wrap-rascal as the vulgar term it), the 
fiddle-case, with its straps, which laj r beside him, and a small knap- 
sack which might contain his few necessaries; a clear gray eye; 
features which, in contending with many a storm, had not lost a 
wild and careless expression of glee, animated at present, when he 
was exercising for his own pleasure the arts which he usually prac- 
ticed for bread— all announced one of those peripatetic followers of 
Orpheus, whom the vulgar call a strolling tiddler. Gazing more 
attentively, 1 easily discovered that though the poor musician’s eyes 
were open, their sense was shut, and that the ecstasy with which 
he turned them up to Heaven only derived its apparent expression 
from his ow r n iniernal emotions, but received no assistance from 
the visible objects around. Beside him sat his female companion, 
in a man’s hat, a blue coat, which seemed also to have been an 
article of male apparel, and a red petticoat. She w r as cleaner in 
person and in clothes than such itinerants generally are; and, having 
been in her day a strapping bona roba, she did not even yel neglect 
some attention to her appearance; wore a large amber necklace, and 
silver ear-rings, and had her plaid fastened across her breast w T ith a 
brooch of the same metal. 

The man also looked clean, notwithstanding the meanness of his 
attire, and had a decent silk handkerchief, well knotted about his 
throat, under which peeped a clean owerlay. His beard, also, in- 
stead of displaying a grizzly stubble, unmowed for several days, 
flowed in thick and comely abundance over the breast, to the length 
of six inches, and mingled with his hair, which w r as but beginning 
to exhibit a touch of age. To sum up his appearance, the loose 
garment which 1 have described w T as secured around him by a large 
old-fashioned belt with brass studs, in which hung a dirk, with a 
knife and fork, its usual accompaniments. Altogether, there was 
something more wild and adventurous-looking about the man than 
1 could have expected to see in an Drdinary modern crowder; and 
the bow which he now and then drew across the violin, to-direct 
his little choir, w*as decidedly that of no ordinary performer. 

You must understand that many of these observations were the 
fruits of after remark; for 1 had scarce approached so near as to 
get a distinct view of the party, when my friend Benjie’s lurching 
attendant, which he calls by the appropriate name of Hemp, began 
to cock his tail and ears, and, sensible of my presence, flew barking- 
like fury, to the place where I had meant to lie concealed till’ I 
heard anoher song. 1 was obliged, however, to jump on my feet, 
and intimidate fiemp, who w*ould otherwise have bit me, by two 
sound kicks on the ribs, which sent him howling back to his master. 

Little Benjie seemed somewhat dismayed at my appearance; but 
calculating on my placability, and remembering, “perhaps, that the 
ill-used Solomon was no palfrey of mine, he speedily affected great 
glee, and almost in one breath assured the itinerants that 1 was “ a 
grand gentleman, and had plenty of money, and w r as very kind to 
poor folk;” and informed me that this was “ Willie Steenson— 
Wandering Willie — the best fiddler that ever kittled thairm with 
horse-hair.” 

The woman rose and courtesied ; and Wandering Willie sane- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


80 

tioned his own praises with a nod, and the ejaculation, “ All is true 
that the little boy says.” 

I asked him it he was of this country. 

** This country ! ” replied the blind man — “I am of every coun- 
try in broad Scotland, and a wee bit of England to the boot. But 
yet 1 am, in some sense, of this country; for I was born within 
hearing of the roar of Solway. Will 1 give your honor a touch of 
the auld bread-winner?” 

He preluded as he spoke, in a manner which really excited my 
curiosity; and then, taking the old tune of Galashiels for his 
theme, he graced it with a number of wild, complicated, and beau- 
tiful variations; during which it was wonderful to observe how his 
sightless face was lighted up under the conscious pride and heartfelt 
delight in the exercise of his own very considerable powers. 

“ What think you of that, now, for threescore and twa?” 

1 expressed my surprise and pleasure. 

‘‘A rant, man — an aula rant,” said Willie; ‘‘ naething like the 
music ye hae in your ball-houses and your play- houses in Edinbro’; 
but it’s weel eneugh anea in a way at a dike-side. Here’s another — 
it’s no a Scotch tune, but it passes for one— Oswald made it him- 
sell, 1 reckon — he has cheated mony ane, but he canna cheat Wan- 
dering Willie.” 

He then played your favorite air of Roslin Castle, with a number 
of beautiful variations, some of which 1 am certaiu were almost ex- 
tempore. 

‘‘You have another fiddle there, my friend,” said 1 — “ have you 
a comrade?” But Willie’s ears were deaf, or his attention was still 
busied with the tune. 

The female replied in his stead, “ Oh, ay, sir— troth we have a 
partner— a gangrel body like oursells. Ho but my hinny might 
have been better if he nad liked; for mony a bein nook in mony a 
braw house has been Dffered to my hinny Willie, if he wad just 
bide still and play to the gentles.” 

‘‘Whist, woman! whist!” said the blind man, angrily, shaking 
his locks; “ dinna deave the gentleman wi’ your havers. Stay in a 
house and play to the gentles!— strike up when my leddy pleases, 
and lay down the bow when my lord bids! Na, na, that’s nae life 
for Willie. Look oul, Maggie — peer out, woman, and see if ye can 
see Robin coming. Deil be in him! he has got to the lee-side ot' 
some smuggler’s punch-bowl, and he wunna budge the night, i 
doubt.” 

3 ‘ That is your consort’s instrument,” said I — “ will you give me 
leave to try my skill?” I slipped at the same time a shilling into 
the woman’s hand. 

“ I dinna ken whether 1 dare trust Robin’s fiddle to ye,” said 
Willie, bluntly. His wife gave him a twitch. “ Hout awa, Mag- 
gie,” he said, in contempt of the hint; ‘‘ though the gentleman may 
have gien ye siller, he may have nae bow-hand for a’ that, and I’ll 
no irust Robin’s fiddle wi’ an ignoramus. But that’s no sae muckie 
amiss,” he added, as 1 began to touch the instrument; “ 1 am 
thinking ye have some skill o’ the craft.” 

To confirm him in this favorable opinion, I began to execute such 
a complicated flourish as 1 thought must have turned Crow T dero 


REDGAUNTLET. 


81 


into a pillar of stone with envy and wonder. I scaled the top of the 
finger-board, to dive at once to the bottom— skipped with flying 
fingers, like Timotlieus, from shift to shift— struck arpeggios and 
harmonic tones, but without exciting any of the astonishment which 
1 had expected. 

Willie indeed listened to me with considerable attention; but I 
was no sooner finished than he immediately mimicked on his own 
instrument the fantastic complication of tones which 1 had pro- 
duced, and made so whimsical a parody of my performance that, 
although somewhat angry, 1 could not help laughing heartily, in 
which I w r as joined by Benjie, whose reverence for me held him 
under no restraint, while the poor dame, fearful, doubtless, of my 
taking offense at this familiarity, seemed divided betwixt conjugal 
reverence for her Willie, and her desire to give him a hint for his 
guidance. 

At length the old man stopped of his own accord, and, as if he 
had sufficiently rebuked me by his mimicry, he said, “ But for a’ 
that, ye will play very weel wi’ a little practice and some gude teach- 
ing. But ye maun learn to put the heart into it, man — to put the 
heart into it.” 

1 played an air in simpler taste, and received more decided ap- 
probation. 

“ That’s something like it, man. Od, ye are a clever birkie!” 

The woman touched his Coat again. “ The gentleman is a gen- 
tleman, Willie— ye maunna speak that gate to him, hinnie.” 

“ The deevil I maunna!” said YVillie; “ and what for maunna I? 
If he was ten gentles, he canna draw a bow like me. can he?” 

” Indeed 1 can not, my honest friend,” said 1; ‘‘ and if you will 
go with me to a house hard by I would be glad to have a night with 
you.” 

Here 1 looked round, and observed Benjie smothering a laugh, 
which 1 was sure had mischief in it. I seized him suddenly by the 
ear, and made him confess that he was laughing at the thoughts of 
the reception which a fiddler was likely to get from the Quakers at 
Mount Sharon. 1 chucked him from me, not sorry that his mirth 
had reminded me in time of what 1 had for , the moment forgotten; 
and invited the itinerant to go with me to Shepherd’s Bush, from 
which 1 proposed to send word to Mr. Geddes that 1 should not re- 
turn home that evening. But the minstrel declined this invitation 
also. He was engaged for the night, he said, to a dance in the 
neighborhood, and vented a round execration on the laziness or 
drunkenness of his comrade, who had not appeared at the place of 
rendezvous. 

“ I will go with you instead of him,” said 1, in a sudden whim; 
“ and 1 will give you a crown to introduce me as your comrade.” 

“ You gang instead of Rob the Rambler! My certie, freend, ye 
are no blate!” answered Wandering Will, in a tone which an- 
nounced death to my frolic. 

But Maggie, whom the offer of the crown had not escaped, began 
to open on that scent with a maundering sort of lecture. “ O Wil- 
lie! hinny Willie, whan will ye learn to be wise? There’s a crown 
to be win for naething but saying ae man’s name instead of anither. 
And, wae’s me! 1 hae just a shilling, of this gentleman’s giein, and 


82 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


a boddle of my ain; and ye wunna bend your will sae muckle as to 
tahe up the siller that’s flung at your feet! Ye will die the death 
of a cadger’s powny, in a wreath of drift! and what can i do better 
tha lie doun and die wi’ you? lor ye winna let me win siller to keep 
either you or mysell leevin.” 

“ Haud your nonsense tongue, woman,” said Willie, but less ab- 
solutely than before. ‘‘Is he a real gentleman, or ane of the 
player-men?” 

“ Tse uphaud him a real gentleman,” said the woman. 

“ I’se uphaud ye ken little of the matter,” said Willie; “ let us 
see haud of your nand, neebor, gin ye like.” 

I gave him my hand. He said to himself, “ Ay, ay, here are 
Angers that have seen canny service.” Then running liis hand over 
my hair, my face, and my dress, he went on with his soliloquy; 
“ Ay, ay, maistedhair, braidclaith o’ the best, and seenteen hundred 
linen on his bacK, at the least o’ it. And flow do you think, my 
braw birkie, that you are to pass for a tramping fiddler?” 

“ My dress is plain,” said 1— -indeed I had chosen my most ordi- 
nary suit out of compliment to my Quaker friend — “ and 1 can 
easily pass lor a young farmer out upon a frolic. Come, X will 
double the crown 1 promised you.” 

“ Damn your crowns!” said the disinterested man of music. “ 1 
would like to have a round wi’ you, that’s certain;— but a farmer, 
and with a hand that never held plow-stilt or pettle, that will never 
do. Ye may pass for a trades-lad from Dumfries, or a student upon 
the ramble, or the like o’ that. But hark ye, lad, if ye expect to be 
ranting among the queans o’ lasses where ye are gaun, ye will come 
by the waur, I can tell ye; for the fishers are wild chaps, and will 
bide nae taunts.” 

1 promised to be civil and cautious; and to smooth the good 
woman, i slipped the promised piece into her hand. The acute 
organs of the blind man detected this little maneuver. 

“ Are ye at it again wi’ the siller, ye jaud? I'll be sworn ye wad 
rather hear ae twalpenny clink against another, than have a spring 
from Rory Dali,* if he was coming alive again anes errand. Gang 
doun the gate to Lucky Gregson’s, and get the things ye want, and 
bide there till ele’en hours in the morn; and if you see Robin send 
him on to me.” 

“ Am 1 no gaun to the ploy, then?” said Maggie, in a disappoint- 
ed tone. 

“ And rvliat for should ye?” said her lord and master; “ to dance 
a’ night, 1'se warrant, and no to be fit to walk your tae’s length the 
morn, and we have ten Scots miles afore us? Na, na. Stable the 
steed, and pit your wife to bed, when there’s night wark to do.” 

“ Aweel, aweel, Willie hinnie, ye ken best; but, oh, take an unco 
care o’ yoursell, and mind ye haena the blessings o’ sight.” 

“ Your tongue gars me whiles tire of the blessing of healing 
woman,” replied Willie, in answer to this tender exhortation. 

But 1 now put in ior my interest. “ Hollo, good folks, remember 
that 1 am to send the boy to Mount Sharon, and it you go the Shep- 


* Blind Rorie, a famous musician according to tradition. 


REDGAUXTLET. 


83 


herd’s Bush, houest woman, how the deuce am I to guide the blind 
man where he is going? 1 know little or nothing ot the country." 

“And ye ken mickle less of my hinnie, sir," replied Maggie, 
“ that think he needs ony guiding; he’s the best guide that ye’ll lind 
between Criffell and Carlisle. Horse-road and foot-path', paiish- 
road and kirk-ioad, high-road and cross-road — he kens ilka foot ol 
ground in 2s ithsdale." 

“Ay, je might have said in braid Scotland, gudewife," added 
the fiddler. “But gang your waj r s, Maggie, that’s the first wise 
word ye hae spoke the day. I wish it was dark night and rain, and 
wind, for the gentleman’s sake, that 1 might show him there is 
whiles when ane had better want een than have them; for 1 am as 
true a guide by darkness as by daylight." 

Internally as well pleased that my companion was not put to give 
me this last proof of his skill, I wrote a note with a pencil, desiring 
Samuel to bring my horses at midnight, when 1 thought my frolic 
would be well-nigh over, to the place to which the bearer should 
direct him, and 1 sent little Benjie with an apology to the worthy 
Quakers. 

As we parted in different directions, the good woman said, “Oh, 
sir, if ye wad but ask Willie to tell ye ane of his tales to shorten the 
gate! He can speak like ony minisler frae the pu’pit, and he might 
have been a minister liimsell, but — ’’ 

“ Baud your tongue, ye fule!" said Willie. “ But stay, Meg — 
gie me a kiss, we maunna part in anger, neither." And thus our 
society separated.* 


LETTER XI. 

THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

You are now to conceive us proceeding in our different directions 
across the bare downs. Yonder flies little Benjie to the northward, 
with Hemp scampering at his heels, both running as if for dear life, 
so long as the rogue is within sight ot his employer, and certain to 
take the walk very easy, so soon as he is out of ken. Stepping 
westward you see Maggie’s tall form and high-crowned hat relieved 
by the fluttering of her plaid upon the left shoulder, darkening as 
the distance diminishes her size, and as the level sunbeams begin to 
sink upon the sea. Sue is taking her quiet journey to the Shep- 
herd’s Bush. 

Then, stoutly striding over the lea, you haveafull view ot Darsie 
Latimer, with his new acquaintance, Wandering Willie, who, bat- 
ing that he touched the ground now and then with his staff, not in 
a doubtful groping manner, but with the confident air of an ex- 
perienced pilot, heaving the lead when he has the soundings by 


* It is certain that in many cases the blind have, by constant exercise of their 
other organs, learned to overcome a defect which one would think incapable of 
being supplied. Every reader must remember the celebrated Blind Jack of 
Knaresborough, who lived by laying out roads. [This remarkable character, 
John Metcalf, called the Roadmaker, was born at Knaresborough in 1717. He 
lost his sight when six years old. An account of his life and undertakings 
forms an interesting chapter in the Lives of the Engineers , by S. Smiles, vol. l, 
1861.] 


84 


REDGAUKTLET. 


heart, walks as firmly and boldly as it he possessed the eyes of 
Argus. There they go, each with his violin slung at liis back, but 
one ot them at. least totally ignorant whither their course is directed. 

And wherefore did you enter so keenly into such a mad frolic? 
says my wise counselor. Why, 1 think, upon the whole, that as a 
sense of loneliness, and a longing for that kindness which is inter- 
changed in society, led me to take up my temporary residence at 
Mount Sharon, the monotony of my life there, the quiet simplicity 
of the conversation of the Geddeses, and the uniformity of their 
amusement and employments, wearied out my impatient temper, 
and prepared me for the first escapade which chance might throw 
in my way. 

What would 1 have given that 1 could have procured that solemn 
grave visage ot thine, to dignify this joke, as it has done full many 
a one of thy own! Thou hast so happy a knack of doing the most 
foolish things in the wisest manner, that thou mightest pass thy ex- 
travagances for rational actions, even in the eyes of Prudence her- 
self. 

From the direction which my guide observed, 1 began to suspect 
that the dell at Brokenburn was our probable destination; and it be- 
came important to me to consider whether 1 could, with propriety, 
or even perfect safety, intrude myseli again upon the hospitality of 
my former host. 1 therefore asked Willie, whether we were bound 
for the laird’s, as folk called him. 

“ Do ye ken the laird?’' said Willie, interrupting a sonata of 
Corelli, of which he had whistled several bars with great precision. 

“ 1 know the laird a little,” said 1; “ and therefore I was doubt- 
ing whether 1 ought to go to his town in disguise.” 

‘‘ 1 should doubt not a little only, but a great deal before I took 
ye there, my chap,” said Wandering Willie; ‘‘for 1 am thinking it 
wad be worth little less than broken banes baith to you and me. 
Ha, na, chap, we are no ganging to the laird’s, but to a blithe birl- 
ing at the Brockenburn-foot, where there will be mony a braw lad 
and lass; and may be there may be some of the laird’s folks, for he 
never comes to sic splores himsell. He is all for fowling-piece and 
salmon-spear, now that pike and musket are out ot the question.” 

“ He has been a soldier, then?” said L. 

“ l’se warrant him a soger,” answered Willie: “ but take my ad- 
vice, and speer as little about him as he does about you. Best to let 
sleeping dogs lie. Better say naething about the laird, my man, and 
tell me instead, what sort of chap ye are, that are sae ready to cleik 
in with an auld gaberlunzie fiddler? Maggie says ye’re gentle, but 
a shilling maks a’ the difference that Maggie kens between.a gentle 
and a semple, and your crowns wad mak ye a prince of the blood 
in her een. But 1 am ane that ken full weel that ye may wear good 
claitlies, and have a salt hand, and yet that may come of idleness as 
weel as gentrice.” 

I told him my name, with the same addition 1 had formerly given 
to Mr. Joshua Qeddes; that 1 was a law-student, tired ot my 
studies, and rambling about for exercise and amusement. 

“ And are ye in the wont of drawing up wi’ a’ the gangrel bodies 
that ye meet on the high-road, or find cowering in a sand-bunker 
upon the links?” demanded Willie. 


KEDGAUNTLET. 85 

“ Oli, no, only with honest folks like yourself, Willie,” was my 
reply. 

“ Honest folks like me! How do ye ken whether 1 am honest, 
or what lam? 1 may be the deevil himself for what ye ken; for 
he has power to come disguised like an angel of light; and besides, 
he is a prime fiddler. He played a sonata to Corelli, ye ken.” 

There was something odd in this speech, and the tone in which it 
was said. It seemed as if my companion was not always in his 
constant mind, or that he was willing to try if he could frighten 
me. 1 laughed at the extravagance of his language, however, and 
asked him in reply, if he was fool enough to believe that the foul 
fiend w T ould play so silly a masquerade. 

“Ye keD little about it — little about it,” said the old man, shak- 
ing his head and beard, and knitting his brows— “ 1 could tell ye 
something about that.” 

What his wife mentioned of his being a tale-teller, as well as a 
musician, now occurred to me; and as you know 1 like tales of 
superstition, 1 begged to have a specimen of his talent as we went 
along. 

“ It is very true,” said the blind man, “ that when 1 am tired of 
scraping thairm or singing ballants, 1 whiles mak a tale serve the 
turn among the country bodies, and 1 have some fearsome anes, 
that make the auld carlines shake on the settle, and the bits o’ 
bairns skirl on their minnies out lrae their beds. But this that 1 
am going to tell you was a thing that befell in our ain house in my 
father’s time— that is, my father was then a hafflins callant; and 1 
tell it to you, that it may be a lesson to you, that are but a young 
thoughtless chap, wha ye draw up wi’ on a lonely road; for muckle 
was the dool and care that came o’t to my gudesire.” 

He commenced his tale accordingly, in a distinct narrative tone 
of voice, which he raised and depressed •with considerable skill; at 
times sinking almost into a whisper, and turning his clear but sight- 
less eyeballs upon my face, as if it had been possible for him to wit- 
ness the impression which his narrative made upon my features. I 
will not spare you a syllable of it, although it be of the longest; so 
1 make a dash— and begin 

WANDERING WILLIE’S TALE. 

Ye maun have heard of Sir Robert Redgauntlet of that Ilk, who 
lived in these parts before the dear years. The country will lang 
mind him; and our fathers used to draw breath thick if ever they 
heard him named. He was out wi’ the Hielandmen in Montrose’s 
time; and again he was in the hills wi’ Glencairn in the saxteen 
hundred and fifty-twa; and sae when King Charles the Second 
came in, wha was in sic favor as the Laird of Redgauntlet? He 
was knighted at London Court, wi’ the king’s ain sword; and 
being a red-hot prelatist, he came down here, rampauging like a 
lion, -with commissions of lieutenancy (and of lunacy, for what 1 
ken), to put down a’ the Whigs and Covenanters in the country. 
Wild wark they made of it; for the Whigs were as dour as the 
Cavaliers were fierce, and it was which should first tire the other. 
Redgauntlet was aye for the strong hand; and his name is kend as 


86 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


wide in the country as Claverhouse's or Tam Dalyell’s. Glen, nor 
darkle, nor mountain, n«r cave, could hide the puir hill-folk when 
Redgauntlet was out with bugle and blood-hound after them, as if 
they had been sae money deer. And troth when they fand them, 
they didna mak muckle mair ceremony than a Hielandman wi’ a 
roebuck. It was just, “ Will ye tak the test?” — if not — “ Make 
ready —present — fire!” and there lay the recusant. 

Far and wide was Sir Robert hated and teared. Men thought 
he had a direct compact with Satan —that he was proof against 
steel— and that bullets happed aff his buff-coat like hailstanes from 
a hearth — that he had a mear that would turn a hare on the side 
of Carrifia-gawns*— and muckle to the same purpose, of wl»ilk 
mair anon. The best blessing they wared on him was, “ Deilscowp 
wi’ Redgauntlet!” He wasna a bad master to his ain folk, though, 
and was weel aneugh liked by his tenants; and as for the lackies 
and troopers that rade out wi’ him to the persecutions, as the Whigs 
caa’d those killing times, they wad hae drunken themsells blind to 
his health at ony time. 

Now you are to ken that my gudesire lived on Redgaunt let’s 
grund— they ca’ the place Primrose Knowe. We had lived on the 
grund, and under the Redgauntlets, since the riding-days, and lang 
before. It was a pleasant bit; and 1 think the air is callerer and 
fresher there than onywhere else in the country. It’s a’ deserted 
now; and 1 sat on the broken door-cheek three days since, and was 
glad 1 couldna see the plight the place was in; but that’s a’ wide o’ 
the mark. There dwelt my gudesire, Steenie Steenson, a rambling, 
rattling chiel’ he had been in his young days, and could play weel 
on the pipes; he was famous at “ Hoopers and girders ”— a’ Cum- 
berland couldna touch him at “ Jockie Lattin” — and he had the 
finest finger for the backlilt between Berwick and Carlisle. The 
like o’ Steenie wasna the sort that they made Whigs o’. And so 
he became a Tory, as they ca’ it, which we now ca’ Jacobites, just 
out of a kind of needcessity, that he might belang to some side or 
other. He had nae ill will to the Whig bodies, and liked little to 
see the blude rin, though, being obliged to follow Sir Robert in 
hunting and hoisting, watching and warding, he saw muckle mis- 
chief, and may be did some that he couldna avoid. 

Now Steenie was a kind of favorite with his master, and kend a’ 
the folk about the castle, and was often sent for to play the pipes 
when they were at their merriment. Auld Dougal MacCallum, the 
butler, that had followed Sir Robert through gude and ill, thick 
and thin, pool and stream, was specially fond of the pipes, and 
aye gae my gudesire his gude word wi’ the laird; for Dougal could 
turn his master round his finger. 

Weel, round came the Revolution, and it had like to hae broken 
the hearts baith of Dougal and his master. But the change was not 
a’thegether sae great as they feared, and other folk thought for. 
The Whigs made an unco era wing what they wad do with their 
auld enemies, and in special wi’ SirRobert Redgauntlet. But there 
were ower mony great folks dipped in the same doings, to mak a 
spick and span new warld. So Parliament passed it a’ ower easy; 


* A precipitous side of a mountain in Moffatdale. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


87 


and Sir Robert, bating that he was held to hunting foxes instead ot 
Covenanters, remained just the man he was.* "His revel was as 
loud, and his hall as weel lighted, as ever it had been, though may 
be he lacked the fines ot the nonconformists, that used to come to 
stock his larder and cellar; for it is certain he began to be keener 
about the rents than his tenants used to find him before, and they 
behooved to be prompt to the rent-day, or else the laird wasna 
pleased. And he was sic an awsome body, that naebody cared to 
anger him; for the oaths he swore, and the rage that he used to get 
into, and the looks that he put on, made men sometimes think him 
a devil incarnate. 

AY eel, my gudesire was nae manager— no that he was a very great 
misguider— but he hadna the saving gift, and he got twa terms’ 
rent in arrear. He got the first brash at Whitsunday put owei wi’ 
fair word and piping; but when Martinmas came theie was a sum- 
mons from the grund officer to come wi’ the rent on a day preceese, 
or else Steenie behooved to flit. Sair wark he had to get the siller: 
but he was weel freended, and at last he got the haill sciaped the- 
gether — a thousand merks— the maist of it was from a neighbor 
they caa’d Laurie Lapraik — a sly tod. Laurie had walth o’ gear — 
could hunt wi’ the hound and rin wi’ the hare— and be Whig or 
Tory, saunt or sinner, as the wind stood. He was a professor in 
this* Revolution warld, but he liked an oira sough ot this warld, 
and a tune on the pipes weel aneugh at a by time; and abune a’, he 
thought he had gude security for the siller he lent my gudesiie 
ower the stocking at Primrose Knowe. 

Away trots my gudesire to Redgauntlet Castle wi’ a heavy purse 
and a light heart, glad to be out ot the laird’s danger. Weel, the 
'first thing he learned at the Castle was, that Sii Robert had lretted 
himsell into a fit of the gout, because he did not appear before 
twelve o’clock. It w'asna a’thegither for sake of the money, 
Dougal thought, but because he didna like to part wi’ my gudesire 
afi the grund. Dougal was glad to see Steenie, and brought him 
into the great oak parlor, and there sat the laird his leesome lane, 
excepting that he had beside him a great, ill-favored jackanape, that 
was a special pet of his; a cankered beast it was, and mony an ill- 
natured tricK it played— ill to please it was, and easily angered— 
ran about the haill castle, cha\tering and yowling, and pinching, 
and biting folk, specially before ill weather, or disturbances in the 
state. Sir Robert caa’d it Major Weir, after the warlock that was 
burnt ;f and few folk liked either the name or the conditions of the 
creature— they thought there was something in it by ordinar— and 
my gudesire was not just easy in mind when the door shut on 
him, and he saw himself in the room wi’ naebody but the laird, 
Dougal MacCallum, and the major, a thing that hadna chanced to 
him before. 

* The caution and moderation Of King William III., and his principles of un- 
limited toleration, deprived the Cameronians of the opportunity they ardently 
desired, to retaliate the injuries which they had received during the reign of 
prelacy, and purify the land, as they called it, from the pollution of blood. 
Thev esteemed the Revolution, therefore, only a half measure, which neither 
comprehended the rebuilding the Kirk in its full splendor, nor the revenge of 
the death of the Saints on their persecutors. 

+ A celebrated wizard, executed at Edinburgh for sorcery aud other crimes. 


88 


REDGAUNTLET. 


Sir Robert sat, or, 1 should say, lay, in a great arm-chair, wi’ 
his grand velvet gown, and his feet on a cradle; for he had baith 
gout and gravel, and his face looked as gash and ghastly as Satan’s. 
Major Weir sat opposite to him, in a red-laced coat, and the laird’s 
wig on his head; and aye as Sir Robert girned wi’ pain, the jack- 
anape girned too, like a sheep’s head between a pair of tangs — an 
ill-faur’d, fearsome couple they were. The laird’s buff-coat was 
hung on a pin behind him, and his broadsword and his pistols 
within reach; for he keepit up the auld fashion of having the 
weapons ready, and a horse saddled day and night, just as he used 
to do when he was able to loup on horseback, and away after ony 
of tli -3 hill-folk he could get speerings of. Some said it was tor 
fear of the Whigs taking vengeance, but I judge it was just his 
auld custom — he wasna gien to fear anything. The rental-book, 
wi’ its black cover and brass clasps, was lying beside him; and a 
book of sculduddry sangs was put betwixt the leaves, to keep it open 
at the place where it bore evidence against the Goodman of Primrose 
Knowe, as behind the hand with his mails and duties. Sir Robert 
gave my gudesire a look, as if he would have withered his heart 
in his bosom. Ye maun ken he had a way of bending his brows, 
that men saw the visible mark of a horseshoe in his forehead, deep 
dinted, as if it had been stamped there. 

" Are ye come light-handed, ye son of a toom whistle?" said Sir 
Robert. "Zounds! if you are — ’’ 

My gudesire, with as gude a countenance as he could put on, 
made a leg, and placed the bag of money on the table wi’ a dash, 
like a man that does something clever. The laird drew it to him 
hastily: " Is all here, Steenie, man?" 

“ Your honor will find it right,” said my gudesire. 

"Here, Dougal," said the laird, " gie Steenie a tass of brandy 
down-stairs, till I count the siller and write the receipt." 

But they werena weel out of the room when Sir Robert gied a 
yelloch that garr’d the Castle rock. Back ran Dougal— in flew T the 
livery men— yell on yell gied the laird, ilk ane mair awfu’ than the 
itber. My gudesire knew not whether to stand or flee, but he vent- 
ured back into the parlor, where a’ was gaun hirdy-girdy — naebody 
to say "come in," or " gae out." Terribly the laird roared for 
cauld water to his feet, and wine t</cool his throat; and hell, hell, 
hell, ana its flames, was aye the word in his moutb. They brought 
him water, and when they plunged his swollen feet into the tub, 
he cried out it was burning; and folks say that it did bubble and 
sparkle like a seething caldron. He flung the cup at Dougal's head 
and said he had given him blood instead of Burgundy; and sure 
aneugli, the lass washed clotted blood aff the carpet the neist day. 
The jackanape they ca’d Major Weir, it jibbered and cried as if 
it was mocking its master; my gudesire’s head was like to turu— 
he forgot baith siller and receipt and down-stairs he banged: but 
as he ran, the shrieks came faint and fainter; there was a deep 
drawn shivering groan, and word gaed through the Castle that the 
laird was dead. 

Weel, away came my gudesire wi’ his finger in his mouth, and 
his best hope was, that Dougal had seen the money-bag, and heard 
the laird speak of writing the receipt. The ycmng laird, now Sir 


REDGAUXTLET. 


89 


John, came from Edinburgh to see things put to rights. Sir John 
and his father never gree’cl weel. Sir John had been bred an ad- 
vocate, and afterward sat in the last Scots Parliament and voted 
for the Union, having gotten, it was thought, a rug of the com- 
pensations — if his father could have come out of liis grave he 
would have brained him for it on his awn hearthstane. Some 
thought it was easier counting with the auld rough knight than the 
fair-spoken young ane — but mair of that anon. 

Dougal MacCallum, poor body, neither grat nor grained but gaed 
about the house looking like a corpse, but directing, as was his 
duty, a’ the order of the grand funeral. Now, Dougal looked aye 
waur and waur when night was coming, and was aye the last to 
gang to his bed, wliilk was in a little round just opposite the cham- 
ber of dais, wliilk his master occupied while he was living, and 
where he now lay in state, as they caa’d it, weel-a-day! The night 
before the funeral Dougal could keep his awn counsel nae longer: 
he came doun with his proud spirit, and fairlv asked auld Hutclieon 
to sit in his room with him for an hour. ’When they were in the 
round, Dougal t »ok ae tass of brandy to himsell, and gave another 
to Hutclieon, and wished him all health and lang life, and said 
that, for himsell. he wasna long for this world; for that every night 
since Sir Robert’s death, his silver call had sounded from the state- 
chamber just as it used to do at nights in his life-time, to call 
Dougal to help to turn him in his bed. Dougal said, that being 
alone with the dead on that floor of the tower (for naebody cared to 
wake Sir Robert Redgauntlet like another corpse), he had never 
daured to answer the call, but that now his conscience checked him 
for neglecting his duty; for, “though death breaks service,’’ said 
MacCallum, “ it shall never weak my service to Sir Robert; and 1 
will answer Lis next whistle, so be you will stand by me, Hutclieon.’’ 

Hutclieon had nae will to the wark, but he had stood by Dougal 
in battle and broil, and he wad not fail him at this pinch; so down 
the carles sat ower a stoup of brandy, and Hutclieon, who was 
something of a clerk, would have read a chapter of the Bible; but 
Dougal would hear naething but a blaud of Davie Lindsay, whilk 
was the waur preparation. 

When midnight came, and the house was quiet as tbe grave, sure 
enough the silver whistle sounded as sharp and shrill as if Sir 
Robert was blowing it, and up got the twa auld serving-men, and 
tottered into the mom where the dead man lay. Hutclieon saw 
aneugh at the first glance; for there were torches in the room, 
which showed him the foul fiend, in his ain shape, sitting on the 
laird’s coffin! Ower he couped as if he had been dead. He could 
not tell how lang he lay in a trance at the door, but when he gath- 
ered himself, he cried on his neighbor, and getting nae answer 
raised the house, when Dougal was found lying dead within twa 
steps of the bed where his master’s coflin was placed. As for the 
whistle, it was gane anes and aye; but mony a time was it beard at 
the top of the house on the bartizan, and amang the auld chimnej'S 
and turrets where the howlets have their nests. Sir John hushed 
the matter up, and the funeral passed over without mair bogle 
wark. 

But when a’ was ower, and the laird was beginning to settle his 


90 


REDGAUNTLET. 


affairs, every tenant was called up for his arrears, and my gudesire 
for the full sum that 9tood against him in the rental-book. Weel, 
away he trots to the Castle to tell his story, and there he is intro- 
duced to Sir John, sitting in his father's chair, in deep mourning, 
with weepers and hanging cravat, and a small walking rapier by 
his side, instead of the auld broadsword that had a hunderweight 
of steel about it, what with blade, chape, and basket-hilt. I have 
heard their communings so often tauld ower, that 1 almost think 1 
was there mysell, though 1 couldna be born at the time. (In fact, 
Alan, my companion, mimicked, with a good deal of humor, the 
flattering, conciliating tone of the tenant’s address, and the hypo- 
critical melancholy of the laird’s reply. His grandfather, he said, 
had, while he spoke, his eye fixed on the rental-book, as if it were a 
mastiff-dog that he was atraid would spring up and bite him.) 

“ I wuss ye joy, sir, of the head seat, and the white loaf, and the 
braid lairdship. Your father was a kind man to friends and fol- 
lowers; muckle grace to you, Sir John, tb fill his shoon— his boots, 
I suld say, for he seldom wore shoon, unless it were muils when he 
had the gout.” 

“ Av, Steenie,” quoth the laird, sighing deeply, and putting his 
napkin to his een, “ his was a sudden call, and he will be missed in 
the country; no time to set his house in order — weel prepared God- 
ward, no doubt, which is the root of the matter— but left us behind 
a tangled hesp to wind, Steenie. Hem! hem! We maun go to 
business, Steenie; much to do, and little time to do it in.” 

Here he opened the fatal volume. 1 have heard of a thing they 
call Doomsday-book —I am clear it has been a rental of back-gang- 
ing tenants. 

‘‘ Stephen,” said Sir John, still in the same soft, sleekit tone of 
voice — “ Stephen Stephenson, or Steenson, ye are down here for a 
year’s rent behind the hand — due at last term.” 

Stephen. — “Please your honor, Sir John, l paid it to your 
father.” 

Sir John.— “Ye took a receipt, then, doubtless, Stephen; and 
can produce it?” 

Stephen “ Indeed, I hadna time, an it like your honor; for nae 
sooner had 1 set doun the siller, and just as his honor, Sir Robert, 
that’s gaen, drew it till him to count it, and write out the receipt, 
he was taen wi’ the pains that removed him.” 

“ That was unlucky,” said Sir John, after a pause. “ But ye 
maybe paid it in the presence of somebody. 1 want but a talis 
qucilis evidence, Stephen. 1 would go owerstriclly to work with 
no poor man.” 

Stephen Troth, Sir John, theie was naebody in the room but 
Dougal MacCallum the butler. But, as your honor kens, he has 
e’en followed his auld master.” 

“ Very unlucky again, Stephen,” said Sir John, without altering 
his voice a single note. “ The man to whom ye paid the money is 
dead— and the man who witnessed the payment is dead too— and the 
siller, which should have been to the fore, is neither seen nor heard 
tell of in the repositories. How am 1 to believe a’ this?” 

Stephen. — “1 dinna ken, your honor; but there is a bit memo- 
randum note of the very coins, for, God help me! 1 had to borrow 


REDGAUNTLET. 91 

out of twenty purses; and 1 am sure that ilka man there set down 
will take his grit oath for what purpose 1 borrowed the money.” 

Sir John. — “ 1 have little doubt ye borrowed the money, Steenie. 
It is the payment to my father that 1 want to have some proof of.” 

Stephen. — ‘ ‘ The siller maun be about the house. Sir John. And 
since your honor never got it, and his honor that was canna have 
taen it wi’ him, may be some of the family may hae seen it.” 

Sir John. — “ We will examine the servants, Stephen; that is but 
reasonable.” 

But lackey and lass, and page and groom, all denied stoutly that 
they had ever seen such a bag of money as my gudesire described. 
What was waur, he had unluckily not mentioned to any living soul 
ot them his purpose of paying his rent. Ae quean had noticed 
something under his arm, but she took it for the pipes. 

Sir John Redgauntlet ordered the servants out of the room and 
then said to my gudesire, 44 JSfow, Steenie, ye see ye have fair play; 
and, as 1 have little doubt ye ken better where to find the siller than 
ony other body, 1 beg in fair terms, and for your own sake, that 
you will end this fasherie; for, Stephen, ye maun pay or flit.” 

44 The Lord forgie your opinion,” said Stephen, driven almost to 
his wit’s end — “ 1 am an honest man.” 

“ So am 1, Stephen,” said his honor; ” and so are all the folks in 
the house, I hope. But if there be a knave among . us, it must be 
he that tells the story he can not prove.” He paused, and then 
added, mair sternly, If 1 understand your trick, sir, you want to 
take advantage ot some malicious reports concerning things in 
this family, and particularly respecting my -father’s sudden death, 
thereby to cheat me out of the money, and perhaps take away my 
character, by insinuating that 1 have received the rent 1 am demand- 
ing. Where do you suppose this money to be? 1 insist upon 
knowing.” 

My gudesire saw everything look so muckle against him, that he 
grew nearly desperate— however, he shifted from one foot to an- 
other, looked to every corner of the room, and made no answer. 

44 Speak out, sirrah,” said the laird, assuming a look of his 
father's, a very particular ane, which he had when he was angry — 
it seemed as it the wrinkles of his frown made that self-same fear- 
ful shape of a horse’s shoe in the middle of his brow; “ speak out, 
sir! 1 will know your thoughts; do you suppose that 1 have this 
money?” 

Far be it frae me to say so,” said Stephen. 

41 Do you charge any of my people with having taken it?” 

“ 1 wad be laith to charge them that may be innocent,” said my 
gudesire; 44 and if there be anyone that is guilt}’, 1 have nae proof . ” 

44 Somewhere the money must be, if there is a word ot truth in 
your story,” said Sir John; 44 I ask where you think it is — and de- 
mand a correct answer!” 

44 In hell, if you will have my thoughts of it,” said my gudesire. 
driven to extremity — 44 in hell! with your father, his jackanape, and 
his silver whistle.” 

Down the stairs he ran (tor the parlor was nae place for him after 
such a-word), and he beard the laird swearing blood and wounds 


92 REDGAUNTLET. 

behind him, as fast as ever did Sir Robert, and roaring for the bailie 
and the baron officer. 

Away rode my gudesire to his chief creditor (him they caa’d 
Laurie Lapraik), to try it he could make onything out of him; but 
when he tauld his story, he got but the worst word in his wame — 
thief, beggar, and dyvour, were the sattest terms; and to the boot 
of these hard terms, Laurie brought up the auld story of dipping 
his hand in the blood of God’s saunts, just as if a tenant could have 
helped riding with the laird, and that a laird like Sir Robert Red- 
gauntlet. My gudesire was, by this time, far beyond the bounds 
of patienfce, and, while he and Laurie were at deil spefed the liars, he 
was wanchancie aneugh to abuse Lapraik’s doctrine as weel as the 
man, and said things that gari’d folks' flesh grue that heard tiiem — 
he wasna just himsell, and he had lived wi’ a wild set in bis day. 

At last they parted, and my gudesire was to ride hame through 
the wood of Pitmurkie, that is a’ fou of black firs, as they say. I 
^en the wood, but the firs may be black or white for what 1 can 
tell. At the entry of the wood there is a wild common, and on the 
edge of the common, a little lonely change-house, that was keepit 
then by an hostler wife, they suld hae caa’d her Tibbie Faw, and 
there puir Steenie cried for a mutchkiu of brandy, for he had had 
no refreshment the haill day. Tibbie was earnest wi’ him to take a 
bite of meat, but he couldna think o't, nor would he take his foot 
out of the stirrup, and took oil the brandy wholely at twa draughts 
and named a toast at each : the first was, the memory of Sir Robert 
Redgauntlet, and may he never lie quiet in his grave till he had 
righted his poor bond-tenant; and the second was, a health to Man’s 
Enemy, if he would but get him back the pock of siller, or tell him 
what came o’t, for he saw the haill world was like to regard him as 
a thief and a cheat, and he took that waur than even the ruin of his 
house and hauld. 

On he rode, little caring where. It w r as a dark night turned, and 
the trees made it yet darker, and he let the beast take its ain road 
through tne wood; when all of a sudden, from tired and wearied 
that it was before, the nag began to spring, and flee, and stend, that 
my gudesire could hardly keep the saddle. Upon the whilk, a 
horseman, suddenly riding up beside him, said, “ That's a mettle 
beast of yours, freend; will you sell him?” So saying, he touched 
the horse’s neck with his riding-wand, and it fell into its auld 
heigh-ho of a stumbling trot. “ But his spunk’s soon out of him, 
1 think,” continued the stranger, “ and that is like mony a man’s 
courage, that thinks he wad do great things till he come to the 
proof.” 

My gudesire scarce listened to this, but spurred his horse, with 
44 Gude e’en to you, freend.” 

But it’s like the stranger was ane that doesna lightly yield his 
point; for, ride as Steenie liked, he was aye beside him at the self- 
same pace. At last my gudesire, Steenie Sleenson, grew half 
angry; and to say the truth, half feared. 

44 What is it that you want with me, friend?” he said. “ If ye 
be a robber, 1 have nae money; it ye be a leal man, wanting com- 
pany, 1 have nae heart to mirth or speaking; and if ye want ‘to ken 
the road I scarce ken it mysell.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


93 


“ If you 'will, tell me your grief,” said the stranger, “lam one, 
that, though 1 have been sair miscaa’d in the world, am the only 
hand for helping ray freends.” 

So my gudesire, to ease his ain heait, mair than from any hope 
of help, told him the story from beginning to end. 

“ It’s a hard pinch,” said the stianger; “ but 1 think 1 can help 
you.” 

‘‘ If you could lend the money, sir, and take a lang day— I ken 
nae other help on earth,” said my gudesire. 

“But there maybe some under the earth,” said the stranger. 
** Come, I’ll be frank wi’ you; 1 could lend you the money on bond, 
but you would may be sciuple my terms. Now, 1 can tell you, that 
your auld laird is disturbed in his grave by your curses, and the 
wailing of your family, and if ye daur venture to go to see him, he 
will give you the receipt.” 

My gudesire’s hair stood on end at this proposal, but he thought 
his companion might be some humorsome chield that was trying to 
frighten him, and might end with lending him the money. Be- 
sides, he was bauld wi’ brandy, and desperate wi’ distress; and he 
said he had courage to go to the gate of hell, and a step further for 
that receipt. The stranger laughed. 

Weel, they rode on through the thickest of the wood, when, all 
of a sudden, the horse stopped at the door of a great house; and, 
but that he knew the place was ten miles oft, my father would have 
thought he was at Bedgauntlet Castle. They rode into the outer 
court-yard, through the muckle faulding yetts, and anealh the auld 
portcullis; and the whole front of the nouse was lignted, and there 
were pipes and fiddles, and as much dancing and deray within as 
used to be at Sir Robert’s house at Pace and Yule, and such high 
seasons. They lap off, and my gudesire, as seemed to him, fastened 
his horse to the very ring he had tied him to that morning when he 
gaed to wait on the young Sir John. 

‘“God!” said my gudesire, ‘‘if Sir Robert’s death be but a 
dream!” 

He knocked at the ha’ door just as he was wont, and his auld 
acquaintance, Dougal MacCallum— just after his wont, too— came 
to open the door, and said, “ Piper Steenie, are ye there, lad? Sir 
Robert has been crying for you.” 

My gudesire was like a man in a dream— he looked for the 
stranger, but he was gane for the time. At last he just tried to say, 
‘“Ha! Dougal Driveower, are you living? 1 thought ye had been 
dead.” 

“ Never fash yoursell wi’ me,” said Dougal, ‘‘ but look to vour- 
sell ; and see ye tak naething f rae onybody here, neither meat, drink, 
or siller, except just the receipt that is your ain.” 

So saying, he led the way out through halls and trances that were 
weel kend to my gudesire, and into the auld oak parlor; and there 
was as much, singing of profane sangs, and billing of red wine, and 
speaking blasphemy and sculduddry, as had ever been in Redgaunt- 
let Castle when it was at the blithest. 

But Lord take us in keeping, what a set of ghastly revelers there 
were that sat around that table! My gudesire kend mony that had 
long befo''? gane to their place, for often had he piped to the mosG 


94 


REDGAUNTLET. 


part in the hall ot Redgauntlet. Theie was the fierce Middleton, 
and the dissolute Rothes, and the crafty Lauderdale; and Dalyell, 
with his bald head and a beard to his girdle; and Earlshall, with 
Cameron’s bluide on his hand; and wildl3onshaw, that tied blessed 
Mr. Cargill’s limbs till the bluide sprung; and Dunbarton Dodglas, 
the twice-turned traitor baith to country and king. Tnere was the 
Bluidy Advocate MacKenyie, wiio, for his worldly wit and wisdom, 
had been to the rest as a god. And there was Claverhouse, as beau- 
tiful as when he lived, with his long, dark, curled locks, streaming 
down over his laced buff-coat, and with his left hand always on his 
right spule-blade, to hide the wound that the silver bullet had 
made.* He sat apart from them all, and looked at them with a 
melancholy, haughty countenance; while the rest hallooed, and 
sung, and laughed, that the room rang. But their smiles were fear- 
fully contorted from time to time; and their laugh passed into such 
wild sounds, as made my gudesire’s very nails grow blue, and 
chilled the marrow in his banes. 

They that waited at the table were just the wicked serving-men 
and troopers, that had done their work and cruel bidding on earth. 
There was the Lang Lad of the Nethertown, that helped to take 
Argyle; and the bishop’s summoner, that they called the Deil’s 
Rattlebag; and the wicked guardsmen in their laced coats; and the 
savage Highland Amorites, that shed blood like water; and mony a 
proud serving-man, haughty of heart and bloody of hand, cringing 
to the rich, and making them wickeder than they would be; grind- 
ing the poor to powder, when the rich had broken them to frag- 
ments. And mony, mony mair were coming and ganging, a’ as 
busy in their vocation as if they had been alive. 

Sir Robert Redgauntlet, in the midst of a’ this fearful riot, cried, 
wi’ a voice like thunder, on Steenie Piper to come to the board-head 
where he was sitting; his legs stretched out before him, and 
swathed up with flannel, with his holster pistols aside him, while 
the great broadsword rested against his chair, just as my gudesire 
had seen him the last time upon earth — the veiy cushion for the 
jackanape was close to him, but the creature itsell was not there — it 
wasna its hour, it’s likely; for he heard them say, as he came for- 


* The personages here mentioned are most of tliem. characters of historical 
fame; but those less known and remembered may befoundinfhe tract entitled: 
” The Judgment and Justice of God Exemplified; or, ABrief Historical Account 
of some of the Wicked Lives and Miserable Deaths of some of the most remark- 
able Apostates and Bloody Persecutors, from the Reformation till after the 
Revolution.” This constitutes a sort of postscript or appendix to John Howie 
of Lochgoin’s “ Account of the Lives of the most eminent Scots Worthies.” The 
author has, with considerable ingenuity, reversed his reasoning upon the infer- 
ence to be drawn from the prosperity or misfortunes which befall individuals in 
this world, either in the course of their lives or in the hour of death. In the ac- 
count of the martyrs 1 sufferings, such inflictions are mentioned only as trials 
permitted by Providence, for the better and brighter display of their faith, and 
constancy of principle. But when similar afflictions befell the opposite party, 
they are imputed to the direct vengeance of Heaven upon their impiety. If, 
indeed, the life of any person obnoxious to the historian’s censures happened to 
have passed in unusual prosperity, the mere fact of its being finally concluded 
by death is assumed as an undeniable token of the judgment of Heaven, -and, 
to render the conclusion inevitable, his last scene is generally garnished with 
some singular circumstances. Thus the Duke of Lauderdale is said, through 
old age. but immense corpulence, to have become so sunk in spirits, “ that his 
heart was not the bigness of a walnut.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


95 

ward. ‘ Is not the major come yet?” And another answered, 
“ The jackanape will be here betimes the mom.” And when my 
gudesire came forward, Sir Robert, or hisghaist, or the deevil in his 
likeness, said, “ Weel, piper, hae ye settled wi’ my son for the year’s 
rent?” 

With much ado my father gat breath to say, that Sir John would 
not settle without his honor’s receipt. 

“ Ye shall hae that tor a tune of the pipes, Steenie,” said the ap- 
pearance of Sir Robert— “Play us up ‘Weel hoddled, Luckie.’ ” 

Now this w r as a tune my gudesire learned frae a warlock, that 
heard it when they were worshiping Satan at their meetings; and 
' my gudesire had sometimes played it at the ranting suppers in Red- 
gauntlet Castle, but never very willingly; and now he grew cauld 
at I lie veiy name of it, and said, for excuse, he liadna his pipes wi’ 
him. 

“ MacCallum, ye limb of Beelzebub,” said the fearfu’ Sir Robert, 
“ bring Steenie the pipes that 1 am ke< ping for him!” 

MacCallum brought a pair ot pipes might have served the piper 
of Donald of the Isles. But he gave my gudesire a nudge as he 
offered them; and looking secretly and closely, Steenie saw that the 
chanter was of steel, and heated to a white heat; so he had fair 
warning not to trust his fingers with it. So he excused himself 
again, and said he was faint and frightened, and had not wind 
aneugh to fill the bag. 

“ then ye maun eat and drink, Steenie,’' said the figure; “ for 
we do little else here; and it’s ill speaking between a fou man and a 
fasting.” Now these were the very words that the bloody Earl of 
Douglas said to keep the King’s messenger in hand, while he cut 
the head off MacLellan of Bombie, at the Tlireave Castle,* and that 
put Steenie mair and mair on his guard. So he spoke up like a 
man, and said he came neither to eat, nor drink, nor make min- 
strelsy; but simpty for his ain— token what was come o’ the money 
he had paid, and to get a discharge for it; and he was so stout- 
hearted by this time, that he charged Sir Robert for conscience’ 
sake — (he had no power 10 say the holy name) — and as he hoped for 
peace and rest, to spread no snares lor him, but just to give him 
his ain. 

The appearance gnashed its teeth and laughed, but it took from a 
large pocket-book the receipt, and handed it to Steenie. “ There is 
your receipt, ye pitiful cur; and for the money, my dog-whelp ot a 
son may go look for it in the Cat’s Cradle.” 

My gudesire uttered mony thanks, and was about to retire, when 
Sir Robert roared aloud, “ Stop, though, thou sackdoudling son ot 
a -! 1 am not done with thee. Here we do nothing for noth- 

ing; and you must return on this very day twelvemonth, to pay 
your master the homage that you owe me for my protection.” 

My father’s tongue was loosed of a suddenty, and he said aloud, 

“ 1 refer myself to God’s pleasure, ami not to yours.” 

He had no sooner uttered the word than all was dark around him; 
and he sunk on the earth with such a sudden shock, that he lost 
both breath and sense. 

* The reader is referred for particulars to Pitscottie’s History of Scotland . 


REDGAUlsTLET. 


96 

How lang Steenie lay there he could not tell; but when he came 
to himsell, he was lying in the auld kirkyard of Redgauutlet paro- 
chine, just at the door of the family aisle, and the scutcheon of the 
auld knight, Sir Robert, hanging over his head. There was a deep 
morning fog on grass and gravestane around him, and his horse 
was feeding quietly beside the minister’s twa cows. Steenie would 
have thought the whole was a dream, but he had the receipt in his 
hand fairly written and signed by the auld laird; only the last let- 
ters of his name were a little disorderly, written like one seized with 
sudden pain. 

Sorely troubled in his mind, he left that dreary place, rode 
through the mist to Redgauntlet Castle, and with much ado he got 
speech of the laird. 

“ Well, you dyvour bankrupt,” was the first word, “ have you 
brought me my rent?” 

“No,” answered my gudesire, “ 1 have not; but I have brought 
your honor Sir Robert’s receipt for it.” 

“ How. sirrah? Sir Robert's receipt! You told me he had not 
given you one.” 

“ TV ill your honor please to see if that bit line is right?” 

Sir John looked at every line, and at every letter, with much at- 
tention; and at last, at the date, which my gudesire had not ob- 
served— ” From my appointed place," he read, “ this twenty -fifth of 
November." 

“What! That is yesterday! Villain, thou must have gone to hell 
for this!” 

“ 1 got it from your honor’s father -whether he be in heaven or 
hell, 1 know not,” said Steenie. 

“ 1 will debate you for a warlock to the Privy Council!” said Sir 
John. “ 1 will send you to your master, the devil, with the help of 
a tar-barrel and a torch!” 

‘‘1 intend to debate myself to the Presbytery,” said Steenie, 
“ and tell them all I have seen last night, whilk are things fitter for 
them to judge of than a borrel man like me.” 

Sir John paused, composed himself, and desired to hear the full 
history; and my gudesire told it him from point to point, as I have 
told it you — word for word, neither more nor less. 

Sir John was silent again for a long time, and at last he said, very 
composedly, “ Steenie, this story of yours concerns the honor of 
many a noble family besides mine; and if it be a lease-making, to 
keep yourself out of my danger, the least you can expect is to have 
a red-hot iron driven through your tongue, and that will be as bad 
as scaudiug your fingers wi’ a red-hot chanter. But yet it may be 
true, Steenie; and if the money cast up, 1 shall not know what to 
think of it. But where shall we find the Cat’s Cradle? There are 
cats enough about the old house, but 1 think they kitten without 
the ceremony of bed or cradle.” 

“We are best ask Hutclieon,” said my gudesire; “ he kens a’ the 
odd corners about as weel as— another serving-man that is nowgane, 
and that 1 wad not like to name.” 

Aweel, Hutclieon, when he was asked, told them, that a ruinous 
turret lang disused, next to the clock-house, only accessible by a 


REDGAUXTLET. 97 

ladder, for the opening was on the outside, and far above the battle- 
ments, was called of old the Cat’s Cradle. 

“ There will 1 go immediately,” said Sir John ; and he took (with 
what purpose, Heaven kens) one ol' his father's pistols from the 
hall-table, where they had lain since the night he died, and hastened 
to the battlements. 

It was a dangerous place to climb, for the ladder was auld and 
frail, and wanted ane or twa Tounds. However, up got Sir John, 
and entered at the turret door where his body stopped the only little 
light that was in the bit turret. Something flees at him wi’ a venge- 
ance, maist dang him back ower — bang gaed the knight’s pistol, 
and Hutcheon, that held the ladder and my gudesire that stood be- 
side him, hears a loud skelloch. A minute after, Sir John flings 
the body of the jackanape down to them, and cries that the siller is 
fund, and that they should come up and help him. And there was 
the bag of siller sure eneugli, and inony orra thing besides, that had 
been missing for mony a day. And Sir John, when he had riped 
the turret weel, led my gudesire into the dining-parlor, and took 
him by the hand, and spoke kindly to him, and said he was sorry he 
should have doubted his word, and that he would hereatter be a 
good master to him, to make amends. 

“And now, Steenie.” said Sir John, “although this vision of 
yours tend, on the whole to my father’s credit, as an honest man, 
that he should, even after his death, desire to see justice done to a 
poor man like you, yet you are sensible that ill-dispositioned men 
might make bad constructions upon it, concerning his soul’s health. 
So, 1 tliinK, we had better lay the haill dirdum on that ill-deedle 
creature, Major Weir, and say naething about your dream in the 
wood of Pitmurkie. You had taen ower muckle brandy to be very 
certain about onything; and, Steenie, this receipt ” (his hand shook 
while he held it out)— “ it’s but a queer kind of document, and we 
will do best, 1 think, to put it quietly in the fire.” 

“ Od, but for as queer as it is, it’s a’ the voucher 1 have for my 
rent,” said my gudesire, who was afraid, it may be, of losing the 
benefit of Sir Robert’s discharge. 

“1 will bear the contents to your credit in the rental-book, and 
give you a discharge under my own hand,” said Sir John, “ and 
that on the spot. And, Steenie, il you can hold your tongue about 
this matler, you shall sit, from this time downward, at an easier 
rent.” 

“ Mony thanks to your honor,” said Steenie, who saw easily in 
what corner the wind was; “ doubtless 1 will be conformable to all 
your honor’s commands; only 1 would willingly speak wi’ some 
powerful minister on the subject, for 1 do not like the sort of 
soumons of appointment whilk your honor’s father—” 

“ Do not call the phantom my father!” said Sir John, interrupting 
him. 

“ Well, then, the thing that was so like him,” said my gudesire; 
“ he spoke of my coming back to see him this time twelvemonth, 
and it’s a weight on my conscience.” 

“ Aweel, then,” said Sir John, “ if you be so much distressed in 
mind, you may speak to our minister of the parish; he is a douce 
4 


98 


REDGAUNTLET. 


man, regards the honor of our family, and the mair that he may 
look for some patronage from me.” 

Wi’ that, my father readily agreed that the receipt should be burn- 
ed and the laird threw it into the chimney with his ain hand. Burn it 
would not for them though; but away it flew up the lum, wi’ a 
lang train of sparks at its tail, and a hissing noise like a squib. 

My gudesire gaed down to the Manse, and the minister, when he 
had heard the story, said, it was his real opinion, that though my 
gudesire had gane very far in tampering with dangerous matters, 
yet, as he had refused the devil's arles (for such was the offer of 
meat and drink), and had refused to do homage by piping at his 
bidding, he hoped, that if he held a circumspect walk hereafter, 
Satan ‘ could take little advantage by what was come and gane. 
And, indeed, my gudesire, of his ain accord, lang forswore baith 
the pipes and the brandy — it was not even till the year was out, and 
the fatal day past, that he would so much as take the fiddle, or 
drink usquebaugh or tippeny. 

Sir John made up his story about the jackanape as he liked him 
well ; and some believe till this day there was no more in the matter 
than the filching nature ot the brute. Indeed, ye’ll no hinder some 
to threap that it was nane o’ the auld Enemy that Dougal and 
Huteheon saw in the laird’s room, but only that wanehancy creat- 
ine the major, capering on the coffin; and that, as to theblawing on 
the laird’s whistle that was heard after he was dead, the filthy brute 
could do that as weel as the laird himsell, if no better. But lleaven 
kens the truth, whilk first came out by the minister’s wife, after Sir 
John and her ain gudeman were baith in the molds. And then my 
gudesire, wha was failed in his limbs, hut not in his judgment or 
memory— at least nothing to speak of — was obliged to tell the real 
narrative to his friends, for the credit of his good name. He might 
else have been charged for a warlock.* 


* I have heard in my youth some such wild tale as that placed in the mouth 
of the blind fiddler, of which, I think, the hero was Sir Robert Grierson, of 
Lagg, the famous persecutor. But the belief was general throughout Scotland 
that the excessive lamentation over the loss of friends disturbed the repose of 
the dead, and broke even the rest of the grave. There are several instances of 
this in tradition, but one struck me particularly, as I heard it from the lips of 
one who professed receiving it from those of a gliost-seer. This was a High- 
land lady, named Mrs. C , of D— , who probably believed firmly in the 

truth of an apparition, which seems to have originated in the weakness of her 
nerves and strength of her imagination. She had been lately left a widow by 
her husband, with the office of guardian to their only child. The young man 
added to the difficulties of his charge by an extreme propensity for a military 
life, which his mother was unwilling to give way to, while she found it impos- 
sible to repress it. About this time the Independent Companies, formed for 
the preservation of the peace of the Highlands, were in the course of being 

levied; and as a gentleman named Cameron, nearly connected with Mrs. C , 

commanded one of those companies, she was at length persuaded to com- 
promise the matter with her son by permitting him to enter this company in 
the capacity of a cadet, thus gratifying his love of a military life without the 
dangers of foreign service, to which no one then thought these troops were at 
all liable to be exposed, while even their active service at home was not likely 
to be attended with much danger. She readily obtained a promise from her 
relative that he would be particular in his attention to her son, and therefore 
concluded she had accommodated matters between her son’s wishes and his 
safety in a way sufficiently attentive to both. She set off to Edinburgh to get 
what was wanting for his outfit, and shortly afterward received melancholy 
news from the Highlands. The Independent Company into which her son was 


REDGAUJSiTLET. 


99 


The shades of evening were growing thicker around us as my 
conductor finished his long narrative with this moral — “ You see, 
birkie, it is nae chanc 3 r thing to tak a stranger traveler tor a guide, 
when you are iD an uncouth land.” 

“ I should not have made that inference,” said 1. “ Y T our grand- 

father’s adventure was fortunate for himself, whom it saved from 
ruin and distress; and fortunate for his landlord, also, whom it pre- 
vented from committing a gross act of injustice.” 

“ Ay, but they had baitli to sup the sauce o’t sooner or later,” 
said Wandering Willie — “ what was tristed wasna forgiven. Sir 
John died before he was much over threescore; and it was just like 
of a moment’s illness. Aud for my audesire, though he departed 
in fullness of life, yet there was my father, a yauld man of forty- 
five, fell down betwixt the stilts of his plow, and rase never again, 
and left nae bairn but me, a puir sightless, fatherless, motherless 
creature, could neither work nor want. Things gaed weel eneugh 
at first; for Sir Regwald Redgauntlet, the only son of Sir John, and 
the oye of auld Sir Robert, and, waes me! the last of the honorable 
house, took the farm afi our hands, and brought me into his house- 
hold to have care of me. He liked music, and I had the best 


to enter had a skirmish with a party of caterans engaged in some act of spoil, 
and her friend, the captain, being wounded, and out of the reach of medical 
•assistance, died in consequence. This news was a thunderbolt to the poor 
mother, who was at once deprived of her kinsman’s advice and assistance, and 
instructed by his fate of the unexpected danger to which her son’s new calling 
exposed him. She remained also in great sorrow for her relative, whom she 
loved with sisterly affection. These conflicting causes of anxiety, together 
with her uncertainty whether to continue or change her son’s destination, were 
terminated in the following manner: 

The house in which Mrs. C resided in the old town of Edinburgh, was a 

flat or story of a land accessible, as was then universal, by a common stair. 
The family who occupied the story beneath were her acquaintances, and she 
was in the habit of drinking tea with them every evening. It was accordingly 
about six o’clock when, recovering herself from a deep fit of anxious reflection, 
she was about to leave the parlor in which she sat in order to attend this en- 
gagement. The door through which she was to pass opened, as was very com- 
mon in Edinburgh, into a dark passage. In this passage, and within a yard of 
her when she opened the door, stood the apparition of her kinsman, the de- 
ceased officer, in his full tartans, and wearing his bonnet. Terrified at what 
she saw, or thought she saw, she closed the door hastily, and sinking on her 
knees by a chair, prayed to be delivered from the horrors of the vision. She 
remained in that posture till her friends below tapped on the floor to intimate 
that tea was ready. Recalled to herself by the signal, she arose,' and on open- 
ing the apartment door, again was confronted by the visionary Highlander, 
whose bloody brow bore token, on this second appearance, to the death he had 

died. Unable to endure this repetition of her terrors, Mrs. C sunk on the 

floor in a swoon. Her friends below, startled with the noise, came upstairs, 
and alarmed at the situation in which they found her, insisted on her going to 
bed and taking some medicine, in order to compose what they took for a nerv- 
ous attack. They had no sooner left her in quiet than the apparition of the 
soldier was once more visible in the apartment. This time she took courage 
and said, “ In the name of God, Donald, why do you haunt one who respected 
and loved you when living?” To which he answered readily, in Gaelic, “ Cousin, 
why did you not speak sooner? My rest is disturbed by your unnecessary 
lanientation — your tears scald me in my shroud. I come to tell you that my 
untimely death ought to make no difference in your views for your son; God 
will raise patrons to supply my place, and he will live to the fullness of years, 
and die honored and at peace.” The lady, of course, followed her kinsman’s 
advice: and, as she was accounted a person of strict veracity, we may con- 
clude the first apparition an illusion of the fancy, the final one a lively dream 
suggested by the other two. 


100 


REDGAUNTLET. 


teachers baith England and Scotland could gie me. Mony a merry 
year was 1 wi’ him; but, waes me! he gaed out with other pretty 
men in the Forty -five— I’ll say nae mair about it. My head never 
settled since I lost him; and it I say another word about it, deil a 
bar will I have the heart to play the night. Look out, my gentle 
chap,” he resumed, in a different tone; “ ye should see the lights at 
Brokenburn Glen by this time.” 


LETTER XII. 

THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

Tam Lutter was their minstrel meet, 

Gude Lord as he could lance, 

He played sae shrill, and sang sae sweet 
Till Towsie took a trance. 

Auld Lightfoot there he did forleet 
And counterfeited France; 

He used himself as man discreet, 

And up took Morrice danse 

Sae loud, 

At Christ’s kirk on the Green that day. 

King James 1. 

1 continue to scribble at length, though the subject may seem 
somewhat deficient in interest. Let the grace of the narrative, there- 
fore, and the concern we take in each other’s matters, make ameuda 
for its tenuity. We fools of fancy, who suffer ourselves, like Mal- 
volio, to be cheated with our own visions, have, nevertheless, this 
advantage over the wise ones of the earth, that we have our whole 
stock of enjoyments under our own command, and can dish for our- 
selves an intellectual banquet with most moderate assistance from 
external objects, it is, to be sure, something like the feast which 
the Barmecide served up to Alnaschar; and we can not expect to 
get fat upon such diet. But then, neither is there repletion nor 
nausea, which often succeed the grosser and more material revel. 
On the whole, I still pray, with the Ode to Castle Building- - 

“ Give me thy hope which sickens not the heart; 

Give me thy wealth which has no wings to fly; 

Give me the bliss the visions can impart: 

Thy friendship give me, warm in poverty 1” 

And so, despite thy solemn smile and sapient shake of xhe head, I 
will go on picking such interest as 1 can out of my trivial advent- 
ures, even though that interest should be the creation of my own 
fancy; nor will I cease to inflict on thy devoted eyes the labor of 
perusing the scrolls in which I shall record my narrative. 

My last broke oft as we were on the point of descending into the 
glen at Brokenburn, by the dangerous track which 1 had first trav- 
eled eg, croupe, behind a furious horseman, and was now again to 
brave under I he precarious guidance of a blind man. 

It was now getting dark; but this was no inconvenience to my 
guide, who moved on, as formerly, with instinctive security of step, 
so that we soon reached the bottom, and I could see lights twinkling 
in the cottage which had been my place of refuge on a former occa^ 


REDGAUJNTLET. 


101 

eion. It was not thither, however, that our course was directed. 
We Jett the habitation of the laird to the left, and turning down the 
brook, soon approached the small hamlet which had been erected at 
the mouih of the stream, probably on account of the convenience 
which it afforded as a harbor to the fishing boats. A large, low cot- 
tage, full in our front, seemed highly illuminated; for the light not 
only glanced from every window and aperture in its frail walls, but 
was even visible from rents and fractures in the roof, composed of 
tarred shingles, repaired in part by thatch and divot. 

While these appearances engaged my attention, that of my com- 
panion was attracted by a regular succession of sounds, like a 
bouncing on the floor, mixed with a very faint noise of music, which 
Willie’s acute organs at once recognized and accounted for, while 
to me it was almost inaudible. The old man struck the earth with 
his staff in a violent passion. “ The whoreson fisher rabble! They 
have brought another violer upon my walk! They are such smug- 
gling blackguards, that they must run in their very music; but Idl 
sort them waur than ony gauger in the countr}\ Stay — hark — it’s 
no fiddle neither— it’s the pipe and tabor bastard, Simon of Sow- 
port, frae the Nicol Forest; but I’ll pipe and tabor him! Let me 
hae ance my left hand on his cravat, and ye shall see what my right 
will do. Come away, chap — come away, gentle chap— nae time to 
be picking and waling your steps.” And on he passed with long 
and determined strides, dragging me along with him. 

1 was not quite easy in his company; for now that his minstrel 
pride was hurt, the man had changed from the quiet, decorous, 1 
might almost say respectable person, which he seemed while he told 
his tale, into the appearance of a fierce, brawling, dissolute stroller. 
So that when he entered the large hut, where a great number of 
fishers, with their wives and daughters, were engaged in eating, 
drinking, and dancing, I was somewhat afraid that the impatient 
violence of my companion might procure us an indifferent reception. 

But the universal shout of welcome with which Wandering Wil- 
lie was received— the hearty congratulations — the repeated “ Here’s 
t’ye. Willie!” Whare hae ye been, ye blind deevil!” and the call 
upon him to pledge them — above all, the speed with which the ob- 
noxious pipe and tabor were put to silence, gave the old man such 
an effectual assurance of undiminished popularity and importance, 
as at once put his jealousy to rest, and changed his tone of offended 
dignity into one better fitted to receive such cordial greetings. 
"Young men and women crowded round, to tell how much they 
were afraid some mischance had detained him, and how two or three 
young fellows had set out in quest of him. 

‘‘It was nae mischance, praised be Heaven,” said Willie, “ but the 
absence of tne lazy loon Rob the Rambler, my comrade, that didna 
come to meet me on the Links; but 1 hae gotten a braw consort in 
his stead, worth a dozen of him, the unhanged blackguard.” 

‘‘And wha is’t tou’s gotten, Wullie, lad?” said half a score of 
voices, while all eyes were turned on your humble servant, who kept 
the best countenance he could, though not quite easy at Decoming 
the center to which all eyes were pointed. 

“ 1 ken him by his hemmed cravat,” said one fellow; “ it’s Gil 
Hobson, the souple tailor frae Burgh. Ye are welcome to Scot- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


102 


land, ye prick-the-clout loon.” he said, thrusting forth a paw much 
the color of a badger’s back, and ot most portentous dimensions. 

“Gil Hobson? Gil whoreson!” exclaimed Wandering Willie; 
” it ’s a gentle chap that 1 judge to be an apprentice wi’ auld Joshua 
Geddes, to the quaker-trade.” 

** What trade he’s that, man?” said he of the badger- colored fist. 

Canting and lying,” said Willie, which produced a thundering 
laugh; “ but I am teaching the callant a better trade, and that is, 
feasting and fiddling.” 

Willie’s conduct in thus announcing something like my real char- 
acter was contrary to compact; and yet 1 was rather glad he did so, 
for the consequence of putting a trick upon these rude aDd ferocious 
men, might, in case of discovery, have been dangerous to us both, 
and 1 was at the same time delivered from the painful effort to sup- 
port a fictitious character. The good company, except perhaps one 
or two ot the young women, whose looks expressed some desire for 
better acquaintance, gave themselves no further trouble about me; 
-but, while the seniors resumed their places near an immense bowl, 
or rather reeking caldron, ot hrandy punch, the younger arranged 
themselves on the floor, and called loudly on Willie to strike up. 

With a brief caution to me, to “ mind my credit, for fishers have 
cars, though fish have none,” Willie led oft in capital style, and 1 
followed, certainly not so as to disgrace my companion, who, every 
now and then, gave me a nod of approbation. The dances were, 
ot course, the Scottish jigs, and reels, and “ twasome dances,” with 
a strathspey or hornpipe for interlude; and the want of grace on 
the part of the performers, was amply supplied by truth of ear, 
vigor and decision of step, and the agility proper to the northern 
performers. My own spirits rose with the mirth around me. and 
with old Willie’s admirable execution, and frequent '* weel dune, 
gentle chap, yet;” — and, to confess the truth, I felt a great deal more 
pleasure in this rustic revel, than 1 have done at the more formal 
balls and concerts in your famed city, to which I have sometimes 
made my way. Perhaps this was, because 1 was a person of more 
importance to the presiding matron of lirokenburn-foot, than 1 had 
the means of rendering myself to the far-famed Miss Nickie Murray, 
the patroness of your Edinburgh assemblies. The person I mean 
w r as a buxom dame of about thirty, her fingers loaded with many a 
silver ring, and three or four of aold; her ankles liberally displayed 
from under her numerous blue, white, and scarlet short petticoats, 
and attired in hose of the finest and whitest lamb’s-wool, which 
arose from shoes of Spanish cordwain, fastened with silver buckles. 
She took the lead in my favor, aud declared, “ that t lie grave young 
gentleman should not weary himself to death wi’ playing, but take 
the floor for a dance ortwa.” 

” And what’s to come of me, Dame Martin?” said Willie. 

“ Come o’ thee?” said the dame; “ mischanter on the auld beard 
o’ ye! ye could play for twenty hours on end, and tire out the haill 
country-side wi’ dancing before ye laid down your bow saving for a 
by-drink or the like o’ that.” 

“ In troth, dame,” answered Willie, ‘‘ye are no sae far wrang; 
sae if my comrade is to take lus dance, ye maun gie me my drink, 
and then bob it away like Madge of Middlebig.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


10$ 

Tbe drink was soon brought; but while Willie was partaking of 
it, a party entered the hut, which arrested my attention at once, and 
intercepted the intended gallantry with which 1 had proposed to 
present my hand to the fresh-colored, well-made, wliite-ankled 
Thetis, who had obtained me manumission from my musical task. 

This was nothing less than the sudden appearance of the old 
woman whom the laird had termed Mabel; Cristal Nixon, his male 
attendant; and the young person who had said grace to us when 1 
supped with him. 

This young person — Alan, thou art in thy way a bit of a conjurer 
— this young person whom 1 did not describe, and whom you, for 
that very reason, suspected was not an indifferent object to me — is, 

1 am sorry to say it, in very fact not so much so as in prudence she 
ought. I will not use the name loxe on this occasion; for 1 have ap- 
plied it too often to transient whims and fancies to escape your 
satire, should l venture to apply it now. For it is a phrase, I must 
confess, which 1 have used— a romancer would say, profaned— a lit- 
tle too olten, considering how few years have passed over my head- 
But seriously, the fair chaplain of Brokenburn has beenotten in my 
head when she had no business there; and if this,can give thee any 
clew for explaining my motives in lingering aboui the country, and 
assuming the character of Willie’s companion, why, hang thee, 
thou art welcome to make use of it— a permission for which thou 
needst not thank me much, as thou wouldst not have failed to as- 
sume it whether it were given or no. 

Such being my feelings, conceive how they must have been excit- 
ed, when, like a beam upon a cloud, 1 saw this uncommonly beauti- 
ful girl enter the apartment in which Ihey w r ere dancing; not, how- 
ever, with the air of an equal, but that of a superior, come to grace 
with her presence the festival of liei dependents. The old man and 
woman attended, with looks as sinister as hers were lovely, like two 
of the worst winter months waiting upon the bright-eyed May. 

When she entered— wondei if thou wilt — she wore a green man- * 
tie, such as thou hast described as the garb of thy fair client, and 
confirmed what 1 had partly guessed from thy personal description, 
that my chaplain and thy visitor were the same person. There was 
an alteration on her brow the instant she recognized me. She gave 
her cloak to her female attendant, and, after a momentary hesita- 
tion, as if uncertain whether to advance or retire, she walked into 
the room with dignity and composure, all making way, the men 
unbonneting, and the women courtesying respectfully, as she as- 
sumed a chair which was reverently placed for her accommodation, 
apart from others. 

There was then a pause, until the bustling mistress of the cere- 
monies, with awkward but kindly courtesy, offered the young lady 
a glass of wine, which was at first declined, and at length only thus 
tar accepted, that, bowing round to the festive company, the fair 
visitor wished them all health and mirth, and just touching the brim 
with her lip, replaced it on the salver. There was another pause; 
and 1 did not immediately recollect, confused as i was by this un- 
expected apparition, that it belonged to me to break it. At length 
a murmur was heard around me, being expected to exhibit— nay, to 
lead down the dance— in consequence of the previous conversation. 


104 


EEDGAUNTLET. 


“Deil’s in the fiddler lad,” was muttered from more quarters 
than one — “ saw folk ever sic a thing as a shamefaced fiddler be- 
fore?” 

At length a venerable Triton, seconding his remonstrances with a 
hearty thump on my shoulder, cried out, ‘‘To the floor- -to the 
floor, and let us see how ye can fling— the lasses are a’ waiting.” 

Up I jumped, sprung from the elevated station which constituted 
our orchestra, and, arranging my ideas as rapidly as I could, ad- 
vanced to the head of the room, and, instead of offering my hand to 
the white-footed Thetis aforesaid, I venlurouslv made the same pro- 
posal to her of the Green Mantle. 

The nymph’s lovely e} r es seemed to open with astonishment at the 
audacity of this offer; and, from the murmurs 1 heard around me, 
] also understood that it surprised, and perhaps offended, the by- 
standers. But after the first moment’s emotion, she wreathed her 
neck, and drawing herself haughtily up, like one who was willing 
to show that she was sensible of the full extent of her own conde- 
scension, extended her hand toward me, like a princess gracing a 
squire of low degree. 

There is affectation in all this, thought 1 to myself, if the Green 
Mantle has borne true evidence — tor young ladies do not make visits, 
or write letters to counsel learned in the law, to interfere in the mo- 
tions of those whom they hold as cheap as this nymph seems to do me; 
and it I am cheated by a resemblance of cloaks, still I am interested to 
show myself, in some degree, worthy of the favor she has granted with 
so much state and reserve. The dance to be performed was the old 
Scots Jig, in which you are aware 1 used to play no sorry figure at 
La Pique’s, when thy clumsy movements used to be rebuked by raps 
over the knuckles with that great professor’s fiddlestick. The choice 
of the tune was left to my comrade Willie, who, having finished his 
drink, feloniously struck up the well-known popular measure: 

“ Merrily danced the Quaker’s wife, 

And merrily danced the Quaker.” 

An astounding laugh arose at my expense, and 1 should have been 
annihilated, but that the smile which mantled on the lip of my part- 
ner had a different expression from that of ridicule, and seemed to 
say, Do not take this to heart.” And 1 did not, Alan — my part- 
ner danced admirably, and 1, like one who was determined, it out- 
shone, which 1 could not help, not to be altogether thrown into the 
shade. 

I assure you oui performance, as well as Willie’s music, deserved 
more polished spectators and auditors; but we could not then have 
been greeted with such enthusiastic shouts of applause as attended 
while 1 handed my partner to her seat, and took my place by her 
side, as one who had a right to offer the attention usual on such an 
occasion. She was visibly embarrassed, but 1 was determined not 
to observe her confusion, and to avail myself of the opportunity of 
learning whether this beautiful creature’s mind was worthy of the 
casket in which nature had lodged it. 

Nevertheless, however courageously I formed this resolution, you 
can not but too well guess the difficulties I must needs have felt in 
carrying it into execution; since want of habitual intercourse with 


REDGAUtfTLET. 


105 


the charmers of the other sex has rendered me a sheepish cur, only 
one grain less awkward lhan thyself. Then she was so very beauti- 
ful, and assumed an air of so much dignity, that 1 was like to fall 
under the fatal error of supposing she should only be addressed with 
something very clever; and in the hast}’’ raking which my brains 
underwent in this persuasion, not a single idea occurred that com- 
mon sense did not reject as fustian on the one hand, or weary, flat, 
and stale criticism on the other. 1 felt as it my understanding were 
no longer my own, but was alternately under the dominion of Alde- 
borouti-phoscopliornio, and that of his facetious friend Rigdum- 
Funnidos.* How did I envy at that moment our friend Jack Oli- 
ver, who produces with such happy complacence his fardel of small 
talk, and who, as he never doubts his own powers of affording 
amusement, passes them current with every pretty woman he ap- 
proaches, and Alls up the intervals of chat by his complete ac- 
quaintance with the exercise of the fan, the flacon, and the other 
duties of the Cavaliere servante. Some of these I attempted, but I 
suppose it was awkwardly; at least the Lady Greenmantle received 
them as a princess accepts the homage of a clown. 

Meantime the floor remained empty, and as the mirth of the good 
meeting was somewhat checked, 1 ventured, as a dernier resort, to 
propose a minuet. She thanked me, and told me, haughtily 
enough, “ She was here to encourage the harmless pleasures of these 
good folks, but was not disposed to make an exhibition of her own 
indifferent dancing for their amusement.” She paused a moment, as 
if she expected me to suggest something; and as 1 remained silent 
and rebuked, she bowed her head more graciously, and said, “ Not 
to affront you, however, a country dance, if you please.” 

What an ass was I, Alan, not to have anticipated her wishes! 
Should 1 not have observed that the ill-favored couple, Mabel and 
Cristal, had placed themselves on each side of her seat, like the sup- 
porters of the royal arms? the man, thick, short, shaggy, and hir- 
sute, as the lion; the female, skin-dried, tiglit-laced, long, lean, and 
hungiy-faced, like the unicorn. 1 ought to have recollected, that 
under the close inspection of two such watchful salvages, our com- 
munication, while in repose, could not have been easy; that the 
period of dancing a minuet was not the very choicest time for con- 
versation; but that* the noise, the exercise, and the mazy confusion 
of a country-dance, where the inexperienced performers were every 
now and then running against each other, and compelling the other 
couples to stand still for a minute at a time, besides the more regu- 
lar repose afforded by the intervals of the dance itself, gave the best 
possible openings for a word or two spoken in season, and without 
being liable to observation. 

We had but just led down, when an opportunity of the kind oc- 
curred, and my partner said, with great gentleness and modesty, 
‘‘It is not perhaps very proper in me to acknowledge an acquaint- 
ance that is not claimed; but 1 believe I speak to Mr. Darsie Lati- 
mer?” 


* [These jocular names, by way of contrast, were given by Scott to the two 
brothers James and John Ballantyne.] 


106 


REDGAUJNTLET. 


“ Darsie Latimer was indeed the person that had now the honor 
nnd happiness — ” 

I would have gone on in the false gallop of compliment, but she 
cut me short. “ And why,” she said, “ is Mr. Latimer here, aud in 
disguise, or at least assuming an office unworthy of a man of edu- 
cation? 1 beg pardon,” she continued, “ 1 would not give you pain, 
but surely making an associate of a person of iliat description — ” 

She looked toward my friend Willie, and was silent. I felt heart- 
ily ashamed of myself, and hastened to say it was an idle frolic, 
which want of occupation had suggested, and which I could not 
regret, since it had procured me the pleasure I at present enjoyed. 

Without seeming to notice my compliment, she took the next op- 
portunity to say, “ Will Mr. Latimer permit a stranger who wishes 
him well to ask, whether it is right that, at his active arre, he should 
be in so tar void of occupation as to be ready to adopt low society 
tor the sake of idle amusement?” 

‘‘liou are severe, madam,” I answered; “ but 1 can not think 
myself degraded by mixing with any society where 1 meet — ” 

Here 1 stopped short, conscious that I was giving my answer an 
unhandsome turn. The argumentum ad hominem, the last to 
which a polite man has recourse, may, however, be justified by cir- 
cumstances, but seldom or never tlie argumentum ad fceminam. 

She filled up the blank herself which 1 had left. “ Where you 
meet me, I suppose you would say? But the case is different. 1 am, 
from my unhappy fate, obliged to move by the will of others, and 
to be in places which 1 would by my own will gladly avoid. Be- 
sides, 1 am, except for these few minutes, no participator of the rev- 
els— a spectator only, and attended by my servants. Your situation 
is different— you are here by choice, the partaker and minister of the 
pleasures of a class below you in education, birth, and fortunes. If 
I speak harshly, Mr. Latimer,” she added, with much sweetness of 
manner, “ 1 mean kindly.” 

1 was confounded by her speech., “ severe in youthful wisdom;” 
all of naive or lively, suitable to such a dialogue, vanished from my 
recollection, and I answered, with gravity like her own, “ 1 am, in- 
deed, better educated than these poor people; but you, madam, 
whose kind admonition I am grateful for, must know more of my 
condition than 1 do myself — 1 dare not say 1 am their superior in 
birth, since 1 know nothing of my own, or in fortunes, over which 
hangs an impenetrable cloud.” 

“ And why should your ignorance on these points drive you into 
low society and idle habits?” answered my female monitor. “ Is 
it manly to wait till fortune cast her beams upon you, when by ex- 
ertion of your own energy you might distinguish yourself? Do not 
the pursuits of learning lie open to you— of manly ambition— of 
war? But no — not of war, that has already cost you too dear.” 

“ 1 will be what you wish me to be,” 1 replied with eagerness. 

“ You have but to choose my part, and you shall see if i do not pur- 
sue it with energy, were it only because you command me.” 

“Hot because I command you,” said the maiden, “ but because 
reason, common sense, manhood, and, in one word, regard for your 
own safety give the same counsel.” 

“ At least permit me to reply, that reason and sense never assumed 


REDGAUNTLET. 


107 


a fairer form— of persuasion,” 1 hastily added; for she turned from 
me — nor did she give me another opportunity of continuing what I 
had to say till the next pause of the dance, when, determined to 
bring our dialogue to a point, lsaid, “ You mentioned manhood also, 
and in the same breath, personal danger. My ideas of manhood 
suggest that it is cowardice to retreat before dangers of a doubtful 
character. \ou, who appear to know so much of my fortunes that 
1 might call you my guardian angel, tell me what these dangers are, 
that 1 may judge whether manhood calls cn me to face or to fly 
them.” 

She was evidently perplexed by this appeal. 

“ You make me pay dearly for acting as your humane adviser,” 
she replied at last: ‘‘1 acknowledge an interest in your late, and 
yet 1 dare not tell you whence it arises; neither am 1 at liberty to 
say why, or from whom, you are in danger; but it is not less true 
that danger is near and imminent. Ask me no more, but, for your 
own sake, begone from this country. Elsewhere you are safe— here 
you do but invite your fate.” 

“ But am I doomed to bid thus farewell to almost the only human 
being who has showed an interest in my welfare? Do not say so — 
say that we shall meet again, and the hope shall be the leading star 
to regulate my course!” 

‘‘It is more than probable,” she said — “ much more than prob- 
able, that we may ne?er meet again. The help which 1 now r render 
you is all that may be in my power; it is such as 1 should render to 
a blind man whom 1 might observe approaching the verge of a preci- 
pice; it ought to excite no surprise, and requires no gratitude.” 

So saying, she again turned from me, nor did she addiess me un- 
til the dance was on ihe point of ending, when she said, “ Do not 
attempt to speak to or approach me again in the course of the 
night; leave the company as soon as you can, but not abruptly, and 
God be with you.” 

1 handed her to her seat, and did not quit the fair palm I held 
without expressing my feelings by a gentle pressure. She coloied 
slightly, and withdrew her hand, but not angrily. Seeing the eyes 
of Cristal and Mabel sternly fixed on me, 1 bowed deeply, and with- 
drew from her; my heart saddening, and my eyes becoming dim in 
spite of me, as the shifting crowd hid us from each other. 

It was my intention to have crept back to my comrade Willie, and 
resumed my bow with such spirit as 1 might, although, at the mo- 
ment, 1 would have given half my income for an instant’s solitude. 
Bui my retreat was cut off by Dame Martin, with frankness- if it 
is not an inconsistent phrase— of rustic coquetry, that goes straight 
up to the point. 

“ Ay, lad, ye seem unco sune weary, to dance sae lightly ? Better 
the nag that ambles a’ the day, than him that makes a brattle for a 
mile, and then’s dune wi’ the road.” 

This was a fair challenge, and 1 could not decline accepting it. 
Besides, 1 could see Dame Martin was queen of the revels, and so 
many were the rude and singulai figures about me, that 1 was by no 
means certain whether 1 might not need some protection. 1 seized 
on her willing hand, and we took our places in the dance, where, if I 
did not acquit myself with all the accuracy of step and movement 


108 


REDGAUtfTLET. 


which Iliad before attempted, I at least came up to the expectations 
of my partner, who said and almost swore, “ L was prime at it;” 
while, stimulated to her utmost exertions, she herself fiisked like a 
kid, snapped her fingers like castanets, whooped like a Bacchanal, 
and bounded trom the floor like a tennis-ball— ay, till the color of 
her garters was no particular mystery. She made the less secret of 
this, perhaps, that they were sky-blue, and fringed with silver. 

The time has been that this would have been special fun; or 
rather, last night was the only time I can recollect these four years 
when it would not have been so; yet, at this moment, 1 can not tell 
you how 1 longed to be rid of Dame Martin. I almost wished she 
would sprain one of those “ many-t winkling ” ankles which served 
her so alertly; and when, in the midst of her exuberant caprioling, 
1 saw my former partner leaving the apartment, and with eyes, as 1 
thought, turning toward me, this unwillingness to carry on the 
dance increased to such a point, that 1 was almost about to feign a 
sprain or a dislocation myself, in order to put an end to the perfor- 
mance. But there were around me scores of old women, all of 
whom looked as if they might have some sovereign recipe for such 
an accident; and remembering Gil Bias, and his pretended disorder 
in the robbers’ cavern, I thought it as wise to play Dame Martin 
fair, and dance till she thought proper to dismiss me. What 1 did 
1 resolved to do strenuously, and in the latter part of the exhibition 
I cut and sprung fiom the flooi as high and' as perpendicularly as 
Dame Marlin herself; and received, 1 promise you, 1 bunders of ap- 
plause, for the common people always prefer exeition and agility 
to grace. At length Dame Martin could dance no more, and, rejoic- 
ing at my release, 1 led her to a seat, and took the privilege of a 
partner to attend her. 

“ Hegh, sirs,” exclaimed Dame Martin, ‘‘lam sair forfoughen! 
Troth, callant, 1 think ye hae been amaist the death o’ me!” 

1 could only atone for the alleged offense by fetching her some 
refreshment, of which she readily partook. 

“ 1 have been lucky in my partners,” 1 said, “ first that pretty 
young lady, and then you, Mrs. Martin.” 

‘‘ Hout *wi’ your fleeching,” said Dame Martin. “ Gae wa — gae 
wa, lad; dinna blaw in folk’s lugs that gate; me and Miss Lilias 
even’d thegither! Na, na, lad— od, she is may be foui or five years 
younger than the like o’ me— bye and attour her gentle havings.” 

” She is the laird’s daughter!” said 1, in as careless a tone of in- 
quiry as 1 could assume. 

‘‘His daughter, man! IS a, na, only his niece— and sib eneugh to 
hi in, 1 think.” 

‘‘ Ay, indeed,” 1 replied. '* 1 thought she had borne his name?” 

“ Sae bears her ain name, and that’s Lilias.” 

*' And has she no other name?” asked 1. 

‘‘What needs she another till she gets a gudeman?” answered 
my Thetis, a little miffed perhaps— to use the women’s phrase— that 
1 turned the conversation upon my former partner, rather than ad- 
dressed it to herself. 

There was a little pause, which was interrupted by Dame Martin 
observing, “ They are standing up again.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


109 


“ True,” said 1, having no mind to renew my late violent capriole, 
6 ‘ and 1 must go help old Willie.” 

Ere 1 could extricate myself I heard poor Thetis address herself to 
a sort of Merman in a jacket of seaman’s blue, and a pair of trousers 
(whose hand, by the way, she had rejected at an earlier part ot the 
evening), and intimate that she was now disposed to take a trip. 

“ Trip away, then, dearie,” said the vindictive man of the waters, 
without offering his hand; “there,” pointing to the floor, “is a 
roomy berth for you.” 

Certain 1 had made one enemy, and perhaps two, I hastened to 
my original seat beside Willie, and began to handle my bow. But 
1 could see that my conduct had made an unfavorable impression; 
the words “ flory conceited chap “ hafflins gentle and at 
length the one more alarming epithet of “ spy ’’ began to be buzzed 
about, and 1 w r as heartily glad when the apparition of Sam’s visage 
at the door, who was already possessed of and draining a can ot 
punch, gave me assurance that my means of retreat were at hand. 
1 intimated as much to Willie, who probably had heard more of 
the murmurs of the company than I had, for he whispered, “ Ay, 
ay — awa wi’ ye— ower lang here — slide out canny — dinna let, them 
see ye are on the tramp.” 

1 slipped half a guinea into the old man’s hand, who answered, 
“ Tiuts! pruts! nonsense! but l’se no refuse, trusting ye can afford 
it. Awa wi’ ye — and if onybodv stops ye, cry on me.” 

1 glided, by his advice, along the room as if looking for a partner, 
joined Sam, whom I disengaged with some difficulty from his can, 
and we left the cottage together in a manner to attract the least 
possible observation. The horses were tied in a neighboring shed, and 
as the moon was up, and 1 was now familiar with the road, broken 
and complicated as it is, we soon reached the Shepherd’s Bush, 
where the old landlady was sitting up waiting for us, under some 
anxiety of mind, to account tor which she did not hesitate to tell 
me that some folks had gone to Brokenburn from her house, or 
neighboring towns, that did not come so sate back again. “ Wan- 
dering Willie,” she said, “ was doubtless a kind of protection.” 

Here Willie’s wife, who was smoking in the chimney-corner, took 
up the praises of her “ hinnie,” as she called him, and endeavored 
to awaken my generosity afresh, by describing the dangers from 
which, as she was pleased to allege, her husband’s countenance had 
assuredly been the means of preserving me. 1 was not, however, to 
be fooled out of more money at this time, and went to bed in haste, 
full ot various cogitations, 

1 have since spent a couple of days betwixt Mount Sharon and 
this place, and betwixt reading, writing to thee this momentous 
history, forming plans for seeing the lovely Lilias, and — partly, 1 
think, for the sake of contradiction — angling a little in spite of 
Joshua’s scruples— though 1 am rather liking the amusement better 
as 1 begin to have some success in it. 

And now, my dearest Alan, you are in full possession of my 
secret— let me as frankly into the recesses of your bosom. How do 
you feel toward this fair ignis fatuus, this lily of the desert? Tell 
me honestly; for however the recollection of her may haunt my 


110 


BEDGAUNTLET. 


own mind, my love for Alan Fairford surpasses the love of woman.. 
I know, too, that when you do love, it will be to 

“ Love once and love no more.” 

A deep-consuming passion, once Kindled in a breast so steady as 
yours, would never be extinguished but with life. 1 am of another 
and more volatile temper, and though 1 shall open your next with 
a trembling hand and uncertain heart, yet let it bring a frank con- 
fession that this fair unknown has made a deeper impression on 
your gravity than you reckoned tor, and you will see 1 can tear the 
arrow from my own wound, barb and all. In the meantime, though 
1 have formed schemes once more to see her, I will, you may rely 
on it, take no step for putting them into practice. 1 have refrained 
from this hitherto, and 1 give you my word of honor 1 shall con- 
tinue to do so; yet why should you need any further assurance 
from one who is so entirely yours as D. L. 

P.S.— 1 shall be on thorns till I receive your answer. I read, and 
reread your letter, and can not for my soul discover what your real 
sentiments are. {Sometimes I think you write of her as one in jest 
—and sometimes 1 think that can not be. Put me at ease as soon 
as possible. 


LETTER XIII. 

ALAN FAIRFOLD TO DARSIE LATIMER. 

1 write on the instant, as you direct; and in a tragic-comic 
humor, for 1 have a tear in my eye, and a smile on my cheek. 
Dearest Darsie, sure never a being but yourself could be so generous 
— sure never a being but yourself could be so absurd! 1 remember 
when you were a boy you wished to make your fine new whip a 
present to old Aunt Peggy, merely because she admired it; and 
now, with like unreflecting and inappropriate liberality, you would 
resign your beloved to a "smoke-dried young sophister, who cares 
not one of the hairs which it is his occupation to split, for all the 
daughters of Eve. 1 in love with your Lilias— your Green Mantle 
—your unknown enchantress! why, 1 scarce saw her tor five min- 
utes, and even then, only the tip of her chin wa^ distinctly visible. 
She was well made, and the tip of her chin was of a most promising 
cast for the rest of her face; but. Heaven save you! she came upon 
business, and for a lawyer to fall in love with a pretty client on a 
single consultation, would be as wise as if lie became enamored of 
a particularly bright sunbeam, which chanced for a moment to gild 
his bar- wig. 1 give you my word I am heart-whole; and moreover, 
I assure you, that, before 1 suffer a woman to sit near my heart’s 
core, 1 must see her full face, without mask or mantle— ay, and 
know a good deal of her mind into the bargain. Bo never fret your- 
self on my account, my kind and generous Darsie; but, for your 
own sake, have a care and let not an idle attachment, so lightly 
taken up, lead you into serious danger. 

On this subject I feel so apprehensive that now when 1 am dec- 
orated with the honors of the gown, I should have abandoned my 
career at the very starting to come to you, but fov my father having 


REDGAUNTLET. 


Ill 


contrived to clog my heels with fetters of a professional nature. L 
wili tell you the matter at length, tor it is comical enough; and 
why should not you list to my juridical adventures, as well as 1 to 
those of your fiddling knight-errantry? 

It was alter dinner, and 1 was considering how 1 might best in- 
troduce to my father the private resolution 1 had formed to set of! 
for Dumfriesshire, or whether 1 had not better run away at once, 
and plead my excuse by letter, when, assuming the peculiar look 
with which he communicates any of his intentions respecting me, 
that he suspects may not be altogether acceptable, “ Alan,” he said, 
“ ye now wear a gown — ye have opened shop, as we would say of 
a more mechanical profession; and, doubtless, ye think the floor of 
the courts is strewed with guineas, and that ye have only to sloop 
down to gather them?” 

“.1 hope I am sensible, sir,” I replied, “ that 1 have some knowl- 
edge and practice to acquire, and must stoop for that in the first 
place.” 

** It is well said,” answered my father; and, always afiaid to 
give too much encouragement, added, “ Very well said, if it be 
well acted up to. Stoop to get knowledge and practice is the very 
word. Ye know very well, Alan, that in the other faculty who 
study the Ars medendi, before the young doctor gets to the bedsides 
of palaces, be must, as they call it, walk the hospitals; and cure 
Lazarus of his sores, before be be admitted to prescribe for Dives, 
when be lias gout or indigestion—” 

“ I am aware, sir, that — ” 

“ Whisht— do not interrupt the court. Well — also the chirur- 
geons have a useful practice, by which they put their apprentices 
and tyrones to work upon senseless dead bodies, to which, as they 
can do no good, so they certainly can do as little harm; ^ ' 
same time the tyro, or apprentice, gains experience 
to whip oil a Jeg or arm from a living subject as 
slice an onion.” 

“ 1 believe 1 guess your meaning, sir,” answe 
not for a particular engagement — ” 

‘‘Do not speak to me of engagements; bu 
good lad— and do not interrupt the court.” 

My lather, you know, is apt — be it said with 
a little prolix in his harangues. I had nothin 
back and listen. 

‘‘ May be you think, (Alan, because I have, doi 
xnent of some actions in dependence, whilk my 
intrusted me with, that 1 may think of airting 
stanter ; and so setting you up in practice, so tai 
ness or influence may.go; and doubtless, Alan, K._ 

1 hope may come round. But, then, before 1 give, as tue 
hath it, * My own fish-guts to my own sm maws,’ I must, for the 
sake of my own character, be very sure that my sea-maw can pick 
them up to some purpose. What say ye?” 

“ I am so far,” answered I, “ from wishing to get early into prac- 
tice, sir, that 1 would willingly bestow a few days—” 

” In further study, ye- would say, Alan. But that is not the way 


112 


REDGAUNTLET. 


either — ye must walk the hospitals — ye must cure Lazarus — ye must 
cut and carve on a departed subject, to show your skill.” 

“lam sure,” 1 replied, ” I will undertake the cause of any poor 
man with pleasure, and bestow as much pains upon it as if it were 
a duke’s: but for the next two or three days — ” 

“ They must be devoted to close study, Alan— very close study 
indeed; for ye must stand primed for a hearing in presentia Do- 
mmorum, upon Tuesday next.” 

“ 1, sir?” 1 replied, in astonishment. “ 1 have not opened my 
mouth in the Outer House yet!” 

“ Never mind the Court of the Gentiles, man,” said my father; 
*' we will have you into the sanctuary at once — over shoes, over 
boots.” 

“ Hut, sir, 1 should really spoil any cause thrust on me so has- 
tily.” 

“ Ye can not spoil it, Alan,” said my father, rubbing his hands 
with much complacency; that is the very cream of the business, 
man — it is jusl as I said before, a subject upon whilk all the tyrones 
have been trying their whittles for fifteen years; and as there have 
been about ten or a dozen agents concerned, and each took his own 
way, the case is come to that pass that Stair or Arniston could not 
mend it; and 1 do not think even you, Alan, can do it much harm 
— ye may get credit by it, but ye can lose none.” 

“ And pray what is the name of my happy client, sir?” said I, 
ungraciously enough, 1 believe. 

” It is a well-known name in the Parliament House,” replied my 
father. “ To say the truth, I expect him every moment; it is Peter 
Peebles.”* 

" Peter Peebles,” exclaimed I, in astonishment; “ he is an insane 

1 ” and as mad as a March hare.” 

)g in the court for fifteen years,” said my 
miseration, which seemed to acknowledge 
li to account for the poor man’s condition 
stances. 

led, “lie is on the Poor’s Kool; and you 
tes regularly appointed to manage those 
sunie to interfere—” 

r interrupt the court— all that is managed 
’ (my father sometimes draws his similes 
me of golf) — ” you must know, Alan, that 
ve been opened by young Dumtoustie — ye 
)f Dumtoustie of that ilk, member of Par- 


for a person named Peter Peebles actually flour- 
>f justice in Scotland about the year 1792, and the 
iven from recollection. The Author is of opinion 
ime the honor to be counsel for Peter Peebles’ 
itigation served as a sort of assay-pieces to most 
o the bar. The scene of the consultation is en- 


vxx\*xj ixxxcvg iiam j. 

[Another character of the same kind, bv name Andrew Nicol, who flourished 
about this time, was probably well known to the Author. He was a weaver of 
Kinross^ who, after years of litigation, neglecting his business, died a pauper 
m the jail of Cupar kife in 1817. See Kay .s Portraits , vol. i. Nos. 118 and 119 
Thefirst represents him with a plan of his midden-stead, dated 1804; the other 
in 1802, consulting a lawyer.] ’ 


REDGAUNTLET. 


113 


laiment tor the County of . and a nephew of the laird’s younger 

brouther, worthy Lord Bladderskate, wliilk ye are aware sounds 
as like being akin to a peatship* and a sheriffdom, as a sieve is sib 
to a riddle. Now, Peter Drudgeit, my lord’s clerk, came to me this 
morning in the House, like ane bereft of his wits; for it seems that 
young Dumtoustie is ane of the Poor’s Lawyers, and Peter Peebles’s 
process had been remitted to him of course. But so soon as the 
hare-brained goose saw the pokesf (as indeed, Alan, they are none 
of the least), he took fright, called for his nag„lap on, and away to 
the country is he gone; and so, said Peter, my loid is at his wit’s 
end wi’ vexation and shame, to see his nevoy break oft the course 
at the very starting. ‘ I’ll tell you, Peter,’ said 1, * were 1 my lord, 
and a friend or kinsman of mine should leave the town while the 
court was sitting, that kinsman, or be he what he liked, should 
never darken my door again.’ And then, Alan, I thought to 
turn the ball our own way; and 1 said that you were a gey sharp 
birkie, just off the irons, and if it would oblige my lord, and so 
forth, you would open Peter’s cause on Tuesday, and make some 
handsome apology for the necessary absence of your learned friend, 
and the loss which your client and the court had sustained, and so 
forth. Peter lap at the proposition like a cock at a grossart; for, 
he said, the only chance was to get a new hand, that did not ken 
the cnarge he was taking upon him; for there was not a lad of two 
Sessions’ standing that was not dead sick of Peter Peebles and his 
cause; and he advised me to break the matter gently to you at the 
first; but 1 told him you were a good bairn, Alan, and had no will 
and pleasure in these matters but mine.” 

What could I say, Darsie. in answer to this arrangement, so 
very well meant— so very vexatious at the same time? To imitate 
the defections and flight of young Dumtoustie was at once to de- 
stroy my father’s hopes of me forever: nay, such is the Keenness 
with which he regards all connected with his profession, it might 
have been a step to breaking his heart. I was obliged, therefore, 
to bow in sad acquiescence, when my father called to James Wil- 
kinson to biing the two bits of pokes he would find on his table. 

Exit Janies, and presently re-enters, bending under the load of 
two huge leathern bags, full of papers to the brim, and labeled on 
the greasy backs with the magic impress of the clerks of court, 
aud the title Peebles against Plainstarles. This huge mass was de- 
posited on the table, and my father, with no ordinary glee in his 
countenance, began to draw out the various bundles of papers 
secured by none of your read tape or whipcord, but stout, substan- 
tial casts of tarred rope, such as might have held small craft at their 
moorings. 

I made a last and desperate effort to get rid of the impending 
job. “ I am really afraid, sir, that this case seemB too much com- 
plicated, and there is so little lime to prepare, that we had better 
move the court to supersede it till next Session.” 

“How sir?— how, Alan?” said my father. “ W r ould you ap- 

* Formerly a lawyer, supposed to be under the peculiar patronage of any 
particular judge, was invidiously termed his peat or pet 

t Process-bags. 


114 


REDGAUNTLET. 


probate and reprobate, sir? You have accepted the poor man's 
cause, and if you have not his fee in your pocket, it is because he 
has none to give you; and now would you approbate and reprobate 
in the same breath of your mouth? Think of your oath of office, 
Alan, and your duty to your father, my dear boy.” 

Once more, what could I say? 1 saw, from my father’s hurried 
and alarmed manner, that nothing could vex him so much as fail- 
ing in the point he had determined to carry, and once more inti- 
mated my readiness to do my best under every disadvantage. 

“ Well, well, my boy,” said my father, “ the Lord will make 
your days long in the land for the honor you have given to your 
father’s gray hairs. You may find wiser advisers, Alan, but none 
that can wish you better.” 

My* father, you know, does not usually give way to expressions 
of affection, and they are interesting in proportion to their rarity. 
My eyes began to fill at seeing his glisten; and my delight at hav- 
ing given him such sensible gratification would have been unmixed 
but for the thoughts of you. These out of the question, 1 could 
have grappled with the bags, had they been as large as corn-sacks. 
But, to turn what was grave into farce, the door opened, and Wil- 
kinson ushered in Peter Peebles. 

You must have seen this original, Darsie, who, like others in the 
same predicament continues to haunt the courts of justice, where 
he has made shipwreck of time, means, and understanding. Such 
insane paupers have sometimes seemed to me to resemble wrecks 
lying upon the shoals of the Goodwin Sands, or in Yarmouth 
Roads, warning other vessels to keep aloof from the bangs on which 
they have been lost; or rather, such ruined clients are like scare- 
crows and potato bogles, distributed through the courts to scare 
away tools from the scene of litigation. 

The identical Peter wears a huge great-coat, threadbare and 
patched itself, yet so carefully disposed and secured by what but- 
tons remain, and many supplementary pins, as to conceal the still 
more infirm state of his undergarments. The shoes and stockings 
of a plowman were, how'ever, seen to meet at his knees with a pair 
of brownish, blackish breeches; a rusty colored handkerchief, that 
has been black in its day, surrounded his throat, and was an apology 
for linen. His hair, half gray, halt black, escaped in elf-locks 
around a huge wig, made of tow, as it seemed to me, and so much 
shrunk that it stood up on the very top of his head; above which 
he plants, when covered, an immense cocked hat, which, like the 
chieftain’s banner in an ancient battle, may be seen any sederunt 
day betwixt nine and ten, high towering above all the fluctuating 
and changeful scene in the Outer House, where his eccentricities 
often make him the center of a group of petulant and teasing boys, 
who exercise upon him every art of ingenious torture. His coun- 
tenance, originally that of a portly, comely burgess, is now 
emaciated with poverty and anxiety, and rendered wild by an in- 
sane brightness about the eyes; a withered and blighted skin and 
complexion; features begrimed with snuff, charged with the self- 
importance peculiar to insanity; and a habit of perpetually speak- 
ing to himself. Such was my unfortunate client • and 1 must allow, 


REDGAUNTLET. 


115 

Darsie, that my profession had need to do a great deal of good, if, 
as is much to be feared, it brings many individuals to such a pass. 

After we had been, with a good deal of form, presented t<> each 
other, at which time 1 easily saw by my father’s manner that he was 
desirous of supporting Peter's character in my eyes as much as cir- 
cumstances would permit— “ Alan,” he said, “ this is the gentleman 
who has agreed to accept of you as his counsel, in place of young 
Dumtoustie.” 

“ Entirely out of favor to my old acquaintance your father,” said 
Peter, with a benign and patronizing countenance, “ out of respect 
to your lather, and my old intimacy with Lord Bladderskate. 
Otherwise, by the Regiam Majestatem ! 1 would have presented a 
petition and complaint against Daniel Dumtoustie, Advocate, by 
name and surname— 1 would, lay all the practiques! 1 know the 
forms of process; and 1 am not to be trifled with.” 

My father here interrupted my client, and reminded him that there 
was a good deal of business to do, as he proposed to give the young 
counsel an outline of the state of the conjoined process, with a view 
to letting him into the merits of the cause, disencumbered from the 
points of form. “1 have made a short abbreviate, Mr. Peebles,” 
said he; “Having sat up late last night, and employed much of 
this morning in wading through these papers, to save Alan some 
trouble, and 1 am now about to state the result.” 

“ 1 will state it myself,” said Peter, breaking in without reverence 
upon his solicitor. 

“ No, by no means,” said my father; “lam your agent for the 
time.” 

“Mine eleventh, in number,” said Peter; “1 have a new one 
every year; 1 wish I could get a new coat as regularly.” 

“ Your agent for the time,” resumed my father; “ and you, 
who are acquainted with the forms, know that the client states the 
cause to the ag"mt— the agent, to the coimsel— ” 

“ The counsel to the Lord Ordinary,” continued Peter, once set 
a-going, like the peal of an alarm-clock, “ the Ordinary to the In- 
ner House, tne President to the Bench. It is just like the rope to 
the man, the man to the ox, the ox to the water, the water to the 
fire — ” 

“Hush, for Heaven’s sake, Mr. Peebles,” said my father, cut- 
ting his recitation short; “ time wears on — we must get to business 
— you must not interrupt the court, you know — hem, hem! From 
this abbreviate it appears—” 

“ Before you begin,” said Peter Peebles, “ i’ll thank you to order 
me a morsel oi bread and cheese, or some cauld meat, or broth, or 
the like alimentary provision! I was so anxious to see your son, 
that 1 could not eat a mouthful of dinner.” 

Heartily glad, 1 believe, to have so good a chance of stopping his 
client’s mouth effectually, my father ordered some cold meat; to 
which James Wilkinson, for the honor of the house, was about to 
add the brandy bottle, which remained on the sideboard, but, at a 
wink from my father, supplied its place with small beer. Peter 
charged the provisions with the rapacity of a famished lion; and 
so well did the diversion engage him, that though, while my father 
stated the case, he looked at him repeatedly, as if he meant to in- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


116 

terrupt liis statement, yet he always found more’agreeable employ- 
ment for his mouth, and returned to the cold beef with an avidity 
which convinced me he had not had such an opportunity for many 
a day of satiating his appetite. Omitting much formal phraseology, 
and many legal details, 1 will endeavor to give you, in exchange for 
your fiddler’s tale, the history of a litigant, or rather, the history 
of his lawsuit. 

“ Peter Peebles and Paul Plainstanes,” said my father, “ entered 

into partnership, in the year , as mercers and linendrapers, in 

the Luckenbooths, and carried on a great line of business to mutual 
advantage. But the learned counsel needeth not to be told, societas 
est mater discordiarum, partnership oft makes pleaship. The 

company being dissolved by mutual consent, in the year , the 

aflairs had to be wound up, and after certain attempts to settle the 
matter extra-judicially, it was at last brought, into the Court, and 
has branched out into several distinct processes, most of which have 
been conjoined by the Ordinary. It is to the state of these proc- 
esses that counsel’s attention is particularly directed; There is 
the original action of Peebles v. Plainstanes, convening him for pay- 
ment of £3000, less or more, as alleged balance due Dy Plainstanes. 
2dly, there is a counter-action, in which Plainstanes is pursuer 
and Peebles defender, for £2500, less or more being balance alleged, 
<per contra, to be due by Peebles. 3dly, Mr. Peebles’s seventh agent 
advised an action of Comptand Beckoning at his instance, wherein 
what balance should prove due on either side might be fairly struck 
and ascertained. 4thly, To meet the hypothetical case, that Peebles 
might be found liable in a balance to Plainstanes. Mr. Wildgoose, 
Mr. Peebles’s eighth agent, recommended a Multiplepoindiug to 
bring all parties concerned into the field.” 

My brain was like to turn at this account, of lawsuit within law- 
suit, like a nest of chip-boxes, with all ot which I whs expected to 
make myself acquainted. 

“ 1 understand,” 1 said, ** that Mr. Peebles claims a turn of money 
from Plainstanes— how then can he be his debtor? and if not his 
debtor, how can he bring a Multiplepoinding, the very summons of 
which sets forth that the pursuer does owe certain moneys, which 
he is desirous to pay by warrant ot a judge.”*' 

“Ye know little of the matter, 1 doubt, friend,” said Mr. 
Peebles; “a Multiplepoinding is the safest remedium juris in the 
whole form ot process. 1 have known it conjoined with a declarator 
of mairiage. Your beef is excellent,” he said to my father, who in 
vain endeavored to resume his legal disquisition; “ but sometning 
highly powdered— and the two-penny is undeniable; but it is small 
swipes— small swipes— more of hop than malt— with your leave I’ll 
try your black bottle.” 

My father started to help him with his own hand, and in due 
measure; but, infinitely to my amusement, Peter got possession of 
the bottle by the neck, and my father’s ideas oi hospitality were far 
too scrupulous to permit his attempting, by direct means, to redeem 

* Multiplepoinding is, I believe, equivalent to what is called in England a case 

of Double Distress. 


REDGAUNTLET. 117 

it; so that Peter returned to the table triumphant, with his prey in 
his clutch. 

“Better have a wineglass, Mr. Peebles,” said my father, in an 
admonitory tone, “ you will find it pretty strong.” 

“ If the kirk is ower muckle, we can sing mass in the choir,” 
said Peter, helping himself in the goblet out ot which he had been 
drinking the small beer. “ What is it, usquebaugh?— brandy, as 
1 am an honest man! 1 had almost forgotten the name and taste of 
brandy. — Mr. Fair ford elder, your good health ” (a mouthful of 
brandy) — “ Mr. Alan Fairford, wishing you well through your 
arduous undertaking ” (another go-down ot the comfortable liquor). 
“ And now, though you have given a tolerable breviate of this 
great lawsuit, of whilk everybody has heard something that has 
walked the boards in the Outer House (here’s to ye again, by way 
of interim decreet), yet ye have omitted to speak a word of the 
arrestments.” 

“ 1 was just coming to that point, Mr. Peebles.” 

“ Or of the action of suspension of the charge on the bill.” 

“ 1 was just coming to that.” 

“ Or the advocation of the Sheriff-Court process.” 

“ 1 was just coming to it.” 

“As Tweed comes to Melrose, I think,” said the litigant; and 
then filling his goblet about a quarter full of brandy, as if in absence 
of mind, “ Oh, Mr. Alan Fairford, ye are a lucky man to buckle 
to such a cause as mine at the very outset! it is like a specimen of 
all causes, man. By the Regiam, there is not a remedium juris in 
the practiques but ye’ll find a spice o’t. Here’s to your getting well 
through with it— Pshut — 1 am drinking naked 3pirits, 1 think. 
But if the heathen be ower strong, we’ll christen him with the 
brewer ” (here he added a little small beer to his beverage, paused, 
rolled his eyes, winked, and proceeded) — “Mr. Fairford — the 
action of assault and battery, Mr. Fairford, when 1 compelled the 
villain Plainstanes to pull my nose within two steps of King 
Charles’s statue in the Parliament close— there I had him in a hose- 
net. Never man could tell me how to shape that process— no coun- 
sel that ever selled wind could condescend any say whether it were 
best to proceed by way of petition and complaint, ad vindititam 
publicam, with consent ot his majesty’s advocate, or by action on 
the statute for pendente lite , whilk would be the winning my plea 
at once, and so getting a back door out of Court. By the Regiam, 
that beef and brandy is unco het at my heart — I maun try the ale 
again ” (sipped a little beer); “ and the ale’s but cauld, I maun e’en 
put in the rest ot the brandy.” 

He was as good as his word, and proceeded in so loud and ani- 
mated a style of elocution, thumping the table, drinking and snuf- 
fing alternately, that my father, abandoning all attempts to inter- 
rupt him, sat silent and ashamed, suffering and anxious, for the 
conclusion of the scene. 

“And then to come back to my pet process ot all— my battery 
and assault process, when 1 had the good luck to provoke him to 
pull my nose at the very threshold of the Court whilk was the very 
thingl wanted— Mr. Pest, ye kin him, Daddie Fairford? Old Pest 
was tor making it out hamesucken , for he said the Court might be said 


118 


REDGAUNTLET. 


— said— ugh! — to be my dwelling-place. 1 dwell mair there than 
ony gate else, and the essence of liamesucken is to strike a man in his 
dwelling-place — mind that, .young advocate — and so there’s hope 
Plainstanes may be hanged, as many has tor a less matter; tor, my 
Lords — will Pest say to the Justiciary bodies, — my Lords, the Par- 
liament House is Peeble’s place of dwelling, says he — being com- 
mune forum, and commune forum est commune domicilium — Lass, 
fetch another glass of whisky, and score it — time to gae liame— by 
the practiques* 1 can not find the jug — yet there’s twa of them, I 
think. By the Kegiam, Fairford — Daddie Fairford— lend us twal 
pennies to buy sneeshing, mine is done — Macer, call another cause. ” 

The box fell from his hands, and his body would at the same 
time have fallen from the chair, had not 1 supported him. 

“ This is intolerable,” said my father. “ (Jail a chairman, James 
Wilkinson, to carry this degraded, worthless, drunken beast home.” 

When Peter Peebles was removed from this memorable consulta- 
tion, under the care of an able-bodied Celt, my father hastily bun- 
dled up Hie papers, as a showman, whose exhibition has miscarried, 
hastes to remove his booth. “ Here are my memoranda, Alan, ’ he 
said, in a hurried way: *' look them carefully over— compare them 
with the processes, and turn it in your head before Tuesday. Many 
a good speech has been made tor a beast of a client ; and hark ye. 
lad, hark ye — 1 never intended to cheat you of your fee when all 
was done, though 1 would have liked to have heard the speech first; 
but there is nothing like corning the horse before the journey. Here 
are five sroud guineas in a silk purse — of your poor mother’s net- 
ting, Alan— she would have been a blithe woman to have seen her 
youns: son with a gown on his back— but no more of that — be a 
good boy and to the work like a tiger.” 

I did set to work, Darsie; for who could resist such motives? 
With my father’s assistance, 1 have mastered the details, confused 
as they are; ahd on Tuesday 1 shall plead as well for Peter Peebles, 
as 1 could for a duke. Indeed, 1 feel my head so clear on the sub- 
ject, as to be able to write this long letter to you; into which, how- 
ever, Peter and his lawsuit have insinuated themselves so far, as to 
show you how much they at present occupy my thoughts. Once 
more, be careful of yourself, and mindful of me, who am ever 
thine, while 

Alan Fairford. 

v ***** * 

From circumstances to be hereafter mentioned it was long ere 
this letter reached the person to whom it was addressed. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


119 


CHAPTER 1. 

N A R RAT I YE . 

The advantage of laying before ihe reader, in the words of the 
actors themselves, the adventure which we must otherwise have 
narrated in our own, has given great popularity to the publication 
of epistolary correspondence, as practiced by various great authors, 
and by ourselves in the preceding chapters. Nevertheless, a genuine 
-correspondence of thi3 kind (and Heaven forbid it should be in any 
respect sophisticated by interpolations of our own!) can seldom be 
found to contain all in which it is necessary to instruct the reader 
for his full comprehension of the story. Also it must often happen 
that various prolixities and redundancies occur in the course of an 
interchange of letters, which must hang as a dead weight on the 
progress of the narrative. To avoid this dilemma, some biographers 
have used the letters of the personages concerned, or liberal extracts 
from them, to describe particular incidents, or express the sentiments 
which they entertained; while they connect them occasionally with 
such portions of narrative as may serve to carry on the thread of 
the story. 

It is thus that the adventurous travelers who explore tne summit 
of Mont Blanc, now move on through the crumbling snow-drift so 
slowly, that their progress is almost imperceptible, and anon abridge 
their journey by springing over the intervening chasms which cross 
their path, with the assistance of their pilgrim-staves. Or, to make 
a briefer simile, the course of story-telling which we have for the 
present adopted, resembles the original discipline of the dragoons, 
who were trained to serve either on foot or horseback, as the emer- 
gencies of the service required. "With this explanation, we shall 
proceed to narrate some circumstances which Alan Fairford did not, 
and could not, write to his correspondent. 

Our reader, we trust, has formed somewhat approaching to a dis- 
tinct idea of the principal characters who have appeared before 
him during our narrative; but in case our good opinion of his sa- 
gacity has been exaggerated, and in order to satisfy such as are 
addicted to the laudable practice of skipping (with w hom we have 
at times a strong fellow-feeling), the following particulars may not 
be superfluous. 

Mr. Saunders Fairford, as he was usually called, was a man of 
business of the old school, moderate in his charges, economical and 
even niggardly in his expenditure, stiictly honest in conducting his 
own affairs, and those of his clients, but taught by long experience 
to be wary and suspicious in observing the motions of others. 
Punctual as the clock of St. Giles tolled nine, the neat dapper form 
of the little hale old gentleman was seen at the threshold of the 
Court hall, or at furthesr, at the head of the Back Stairs, trimly 
dressed in a complete suit of snuff-colored brown, with stockings 
of silk or woolen, as -Suited the weather; a bob-wig, and a small 
cocked hat; shoes blacked as Warren would have blacked them; 


120 


REDGAUKTLET. 


silver slioe-buckles, and a gold slock-buckle. A. nosegay in summer,, 
and a sprig ol hollj T in winter, completed his well-known dress and 
appearance. His manners corresponded with his attire, lor they 
were scrupulously civil, and not a little formal. He was an elder 
of the kirk, and, of course, zealous for King George and the Govern- 
ment even to slaying, as he had shown by taking up arms in their 
cause. But then, as he had clients and connections of business 
among families of opposite political tenets, he was particularly 
cautious to use all the conventional phrases which the civility of the 
time had devised, as an admissible mode of language betwixt the 
two parties. Thus he spoke sometimes of the Chevalier, but never 
either of the prince, which would have been sacrificing his own 
principles, or of the Pretender, which would have been offensive 
to those of others. Again, he usually designated the Kebellion as 
the affair of 1745, and spoke of any one engaged in it as a person 
who had been out at a certain period.* So that, on the whole, Mr. 
Fairford was a man much liked and respected on all sides, though 
his friends would not have been sorry if he had given a dinner more 
frequently, as his little cellar contained some choice old wine, of 
which, on such rare occasions, he was no niggard. 

The whole pleasure of this good old-fashioned man of method, 
besides that which lie really felt in the discharge of his daily busi- 
ness, was the hope to see his son Alan, the only fruit of a union 
which death early dissolved, attain what in the father’s eyes was 
the proudest of all distinctions— the rank and fame of a well-em- 
ployed lawyer. 

Every profession has its peculiar honors, and Mr. Fairford’s mind 
was constructed upon so limited and exclusive a plan, that he valued 
nothing, save the objects of ambition which his own presented. He 
would have shuddered at Alan’s acquiring the renown of a hero, 
and laughed with scorn at the equally barren laurels of literature; it 
was by the path of the law alone that he was desirous to see him 
rise to eminence, and the probabilities of success or disappoiniment 
were the thoughts of his father by day, and his dream by night. 

The disposition of Alan Fairford, as well as his talents, were such 
as to encourage his father’s expectations. He had acuteness of in- 
tellect, joined to habits of long and patient study, improved no 
doubt by the discipline of his father’s house; to which, generally 
speaking, he conformed with the utmost docility, expressing no wish 
for greater or more frequent relaxation than consisted with his fa- 
ther’s anxious and severe restrictions. When he did indulge in any 
juvenile frolics, his father had the candor to lay the whole blame 
upon his more mercurial companion, Darsie Latimer. 

This youth, as the reader must be aware, had been received as 
an inmate into the family of Mr. Fairford, senior, at a time when 


* Old-fashioned Scotch Civilitv.— Such were literally the points of polite- 
ness observed in general society during the Author’s youth, where it was by no 
means unusual in a company assembled by chance, to find individuals who had 
borne arms on one side or other in the civil broils of 1745. Nothing, according 
to my recollection, could be more gentle and decorous than the respect these 
old enemies paid to each other’s prejudices. But in this I speak generally. I 
have witnessed one or two explosions. 


REDGAUfsTLET. 


121 


some of the delicacy of constitution which had abridged the life of 
his consort, began to show itself in the son, and when the father 
was of course, peculiarly disposed to indulge his slightest wish. 
That the young Englishman was able to pay a considerable board 
was a matter of no importance to Mr. Fairford; it was enough that 
his presence seemed to make his son cheerful and happy. He was 
compelled to allow that “ Darsic was a fine lad, though unsettled,” 
and he would have had some difficulty in getting rid of him, and 
the apprehensions which his levities excited, had it not been for the 
voluntary excursion which gave rise to ihe preceding correspond- 
ence, and in which Mr. Fairford secretly rejoiced, as affording the 
means of separating Alan from his gay companion, at least until he 
should have assumed, and become accustomed to, the duties of his 
dry and laborious profession. 

But the absence of Darsie was far from promoting the end which 
the elder Mr. Fairford had expected and desired. The young men 
were united by the closest bonds of intimacy; and the more so, that 
neither of them sought nor desired to admit any others into iheir 
society. Alan Fairford was averse to general company, from a dis- 
position naturally reserved, and Darsie Latimer from a painful sense 
of his own unknown origin, particularly afflicting in a country where 
high and low are professed genealogists. The young men were all 
in all to each other; it is no wonder, therefore, that their separation 
was painful, and that its effects upon Alan Fairford, joined to llie 
anxiety occasioned by the tenor of his friend’s letters, greatly ex- 
ceeded what the senior had anticipated. The young man went 
through his usual duties, his studies, and the examinations to which 
he was subjected, but with nothing like the zeal and assiduity which 
he had formerly displayed; and his anxious and observant father 
saw but too plainly that his heart was with his absent comrade. 

A philosopher would have given way to this tide of feeling in 
hopes to have diminished its excess, and permitted the youths to 
have been some time together, that their intimacy might have been 
broken off by degrees, but Mr. Fairford only saw the more direct 
mode of continued restraint, which, however, he was desirous of 
veiling under some plausible pretext. In the anxiety which he felt 
on this occasion, he had held communication with an old acquaint- 
ance, Peter Drudgeit, with whom the reader is partly acquainted. 
“ Alan,” he said. “ was ance wud, apd aye waur; and he w T as ex- 
pecting every moment when he would start oft in a wildgoose-chase 
after the callant Latimer; Will Sampson, the horse-hirer in Candle- 
maker Row, had given him a hint that Alan had been looking for a 
good hack, to go to the country for a few days. And then to oppose 
him downright— he could not but think on the way his poor mother 
was removed — would to Heaven he was yoked to some tight piece 
of business, no matter whether well or ill paid, but some job that 
would hamshackle him at least until the Courts rose, if it were but 
for decency’s sake.” 

Peter Drudgeit sympathized, for Peter had a son, who, reason or 
none, would needs' exchange the torn and inky fustian sleeves tor 
the blue jacket and white lapelle; and he suggested, as the reader 
knows, the engaging our friend Alan in the matter of Poor P< ter 
Peebles, just opened by the desertion of young Dumtoustie, whose 


122 


REDGAUNTLET. 


defection would be at the same time concealed ; and this Drudgeif 
said, “ would be felling two dogs ■with one stone.” 

With these explanations, the reader will hold a man of the elder 
Fairford’s sense and experience free from the hazardous and impa- 
tient curiosity with which boys fling a puppy into a deep pond, 
merely to see if the creature can swim. However confident in his 
son’s talents, which were really considerable, he would have been 
very sorry to have involved him in the duty of pleading a compli- 
cated and difficult case, upon his very first appearauce at the bar, 
had he not resorted to it as an effectual way to prevent the young 
man from taking a step which his habits of thinking represented as 
a most fatal one at his outset of life. 

Betwixt two evils, Mr. Fairford chose that which was in his own 
apprehension the least; and, like a brave officer sending forth his 
son to battle, rather chose he should die upon the breach, than desert 
the conflict with dishonor. Neither did he leave him to his own un- 
assisted energies. Like Alpheus preceding Hercules, he himself 
encountered the Augean mass of Peter Peeble's law matters. It was 
to the old man a labor of love to place in a clear and undistorted 
view the real merits of this case, which the carelessness and blun- 
ders of Peter’s former solicitors liad converted into a huge chaotic 
mass of unintelligible technicality; and such was his skill and in- 
dustry, that he was able, after the severe toil of two or three days, 
to present to the consideration of the young counsel the principal 
facts of the case, in a light equally simple and comprehensible. 
With the assistance of a solicitor so affectionate and indefatigable, 
Alan Fairford was enabled, w r hen the day of the trial arrived, to 
wrnlk toward the Court, attended bv his anxious yet encouraging 
parent, with some degree of confidence that he would lose no repu- 
tation upon this arduous occasion. 

They were met at the door ot the Court by Poor Peter Peebles in 
his usual plenitude of wig and celsitude of liat. He seized on the 
young pleader like a lion on his prey. ” How is a’ wi’ you, Mr. 
Alan— how is a’ wi’ you, man? The awfu’ day is come at last — a 
day that will be lang minded in this house. Poor Peter Peebles 
against Plainstanes — conjoined processes— hearing in presence-- 
stands for ttie Short Roll for this day — I have not been able to sleep 
for a week for thinking ot it, and, ldare to say, neither has the Lord 
President himsell— for such a cause!! But your father garr’d me 
tak a wee diap ower muckle of his pint bottle the other night; it’s 
no right to mix brandy wi’ business, Mr. Fairford. 1 would have 
been the waur o’ liquor if 1 would have drunk as muckle as you twa 
would have had me. But there's a time for a’ things, and if ye will 
dine with me after the case is heard, or whilk is the same, or may 
be better, I'll gang my ways hame wi’ you, and 1 winna object to a 
clieeifu’ glass, within the bounds of moderation.” 

Old Fairford shrugged his shoulders, and hurried past the client, 
saw his son wrapped in the sable bombazine, which, in his eyes, 
was more venerable than an archbishop’s lawn, and could not help 
fondly patting his shoulder, and whispering to him to take courage, 
and show he w^as worthy to wear it. The parly entered the Outer 
Hall of the Court (once the place of meeting of the ancient Scottish 
Parliament), and which corresponds to the use ot Westminster Htdi 


REDC4AUNTLET. 


123 

!n England, serving as a vestibule to the Inner House, as it is termed, 
and a place ot dominion to certain sedentary personages called Lords 
Ordinary. 

The earlier part of the morning was spent by old Fairford in 
reiterating his instructions to Alan, and in running from one person 
to another, from whom he thought he could still glean some grains 
of information, either concerning the point at issue, or collateral 
cases. Meantime, Poor Peter Peebles, whose shallow brain was al- 
together unable to bear the importance of the moment, kept as close 
lo his young counsel as shadow to substance, affected now to speak 
loud, now to whisper in his ear, now to deck his gha3lly counte 
nance with wreathed smiles, now to cloud it with a shade of deep 
and solemn importance, and anon to contort it with the sneer of 
scorn and derision. These moods of the client’s mind were accom- 
panied with singular “ mocldngs and mowings,” fantastic gestures, 
which the man of rags and litigation deemed appropriate to his 
changes ot countenance. Now he brandished his arm aloft, now 
thrust his fist straight out, as if to knock his opponent down. Now 
lie laid his open palm on his bosom, and now flinging it abroad, he 
gallantly snapped his fingers in the air. 

These demonstrations, and the obvious shame and embarrassment 
of Alan Fairford, did not escape the observation of the juvenile idlers 
in the hall. They did not, indeed, approach Peter with their usual 
familiarity, from some feeling of deference toward Fairford, though 
many accused him ot conceit in presuming to undertake at this early 
stage of his praclice, a case of considerable difficulty. But Alan, 
notwithstanding his forbearance, was not the less sensible that lie 
and his companion were the subjects ot many a passing jest, and 
many a shout of laughter, with which that region at all times 
abounds. 

At length the young counsel’s patience gave way, and as it threat- 
ened to carry his presence of mind and recollection along with it, 
Alan frankly told his father, that unless he was relieved from the 
infliction of his client’s personal presence and instructions, he must 
necessarily throw up his brief, and decline pleading the case. 

“ Hush, hush, my dear Alan,” said the old gentleman, almost at 
his own wit’s end upon hearing this dilemma: “ dinna mind the 
silly ne’er-do-weel; we can not keep the man from hearing his own 
case, though he be no quite right in the head.” 

“ On my life, sir,” answered Alan, “ 1 shall be unable to go on, 
he drives everything out of my remembrance; and if 1 attempt to 
speak seriously of the injuries he has sustained, and the condition 
he is reduced to, how can 1 expect but that the very appearance ot 
such an absurd scarecrow wiil turn it all into ridicule?” 

“ There is something in that,” said Saunders Fairford, glancing 
a look at Poor Peter, and then cautiously inserting his forefinger 
under his bob wig, in order to rub his temple and aid his invention: 
“ he is no figure tor the fore-bar to see without laughing; but how 
to get rid of him? To speak sense, or anything like it, is the last 
thing he will listen to. Stay, av— Alan, my darling, hae patience; 
I’ll get him off on the instant, like a gowli ba’.” 

So saving, he hastened to his ally, Peter Drudgeit, who, on seeing 
him with marks of haste in his gait, and care upon his countenance. 


124 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


clapped his pen behind his ear, with, “ What’s the stir now, Mr. 
SauDders? Is there aught wiang?” 

“Here’s a dollar, man,” said Mr, Saunders, “now or never, 
Peter, do me a good turn. Yonder s your namesake, Peter Peebles, 
will drive the swine through our bonny banks of yarn;* gel him over 
to John’s Coffee-house, man — gie him his meridian — keep him 
there, drunk or sober, till the hearing is ower.” 

“ Enough said,” quoth Peter Drudgeit, no way pleased with his 
ow r n share in the service required — “ We’s do your bidding.” 

Accordingly the scribe was presently seen whispering in the ear of 
Peter Peebles, whose responses came forth in the following broken 
form: 

“ Leave the court for ae minute on this great day of judgment? 

— not 1, by the Reg Eh! what? Brandy, did ye say —French 

brandy?— couldna ye fetch a stoup to the bar under your coat, man? 
Impossible? Ray, if it’s clean impossible, and if we have an hour 
good till they get through the single bill, and the summar-roll, 1 
catena if 1 cross the close wi’ you; 1 am sure 1 need something to 
keep my heart up this awful day; but I’ll no stay above an instant 
— not above a minute of lime — nor drink aboon a single gill.” 

In a few minutes afterward the two Peters were seen moving 
through the Parliament Close (which new-fangled affectation has 
termed a Square), the triumphant Drudgeit leading captive the pas- 
sive Peebles, whose legs conducted him toward the dramshop, 
while his reverted eyes were fixed upon the Court. They dived into 
the Cimmerian abysses of John’s Coffee-house, f formerly the fav- 
orite rendezvous of the classical ana genial Dr. Pitcairn, and were 
for the present seen no more. 

Relieved from his tormentor, Alan Fairford had time to rally his 
recollections, which, in the irritation of his spirits, had nearly 
escaped him, and to prepare himself for a task, the successful dis- 
charge or failure in which must, he was aware, have the deepest 
influence upon his fortunes. He had pride, was not without a 
consciousness of talent, and the sense of his father’s feelings upon 
the subject impelled him to the utmost exertion. Above all, he had 
that sort of self -command which is essential to success in every 
arduous undertaking, and he was constitutionally free from that 
feverish irritability, by which those, w hose over-active imaginations 


* The simile is obvious, from the old manufacture of Scotland, when the 
gudewife’s thrift, as the yarn wrought in the winter was called, when laid down 
to bleach by the burnside, was peculiarly exposed to the inroads of pigs, seldom 
well regulated about a Scottish farm-house. 

+ This small, dark coffee-house, now burnt down, was the resort of such 
writers and clerks belonging to the Parliament House above thirty years ago, 
as retained the ancient Scottish custom of a meridian, as it was called, or noon- 
tide dram of spirits. If their proceedings were watched, they might be seen to 
turn fidgety about thehour of noon, and’ exchange looks with each other from 
their separate desks, till at length some one of formal and dignified presence as- 
sumed the honor of leading the band, when away they went, threading the 
crowd like a string of wild-fowl, crossed the square or close, and following' each 
other into the coffee-house, received in turn from the hand of the waiter, the 
meridian, which was placed ready at the bar. This they did day by dav: and 
though they did not speak to each other, they seemed to attach a certain de- 
gree of sociability to performing the ceremony in company. 


KEDGAUHTLET. 


125 


exaggerate difficulties, render themselves incapable o f encountering 
such when they arrive. 

Having collected all the scattered and broken associations which 
were necessary, Alan’s thoughts reverted to Dumfriesshire, and the 
precarious situation in which he feared his beloved friend had 
placed himself; and once and again he consulted his watch, eager to 
have his present task commenced and ended that he might hasten to 
Darsie’s assistance. The hour and moment at length arrived. The 
Macer shouted, with all his well-remembered brazen strength of 
lungs. “ Poor Peter Peebles versus Plainstancs, per Dumtoustie el 
Tough! — Maister Da-a-niel Dumtoustie!” Dumtoustie answered 
not the summons, which, deep and swelling as it was, could not 
reach across the Queensferry; but our Maister Alan Fairford ap- 
peared in his place. 

The court was very much crowded; for much amusement had 
been received on former occasions when Peter had volunteered his 
own oratory, and had been completely successful in routing the 
gravity of the whole procedure, and putting to silence not indeed 
the counsel of the opposite party, but his own. 

Both bench and audience seemed considerably surprised at the 
juvenile appearance of the young man who appeared in the room of 
Dumtoustie, for the purpose of opening this complicated and long 
depending process, and the common herd were disappointed at the 
absence of Peter the client, the Punchinello of the expected enter- 
tainment. The judges looked with a very favorable countenance 
on our friend Alan, most of them being acquainted, more or less, 
with so old a practitioner as his father, and all, or almost all, afford- 
ing from civility, the same fair play to the first pleading of a coun- 
sel, which the House of Commons yields to the maiden speech of 
one of its members. 

Lord Bladderskate was an exception to this general expression of 
benevolence. He scowled upon Alan, from beneath his large, 
shaggy, gray eyebrows, just as it the young lawyer had been usurp- 
ing his nephew’s honors instead of covering his disgrace; and from 
feelings which did his lordship little honor, he privately hoped the 
young man would not succeed in the cause which his kinsman had 
abandoned. 

Even Lord Bladderskate, however, was, in spite of himself, 
pleased with the judicious and modest tone in which Alan began 
his address to the Court, apologizing for his own presumption, and 
excusing it by the sudden illness of his learned brother, tor whom 
the labor of opening a cause of some difficulty and importance had 
been much more worthily designed. He spoke of himself as he 
really was, and of young Dumtoustie as what he ought to have been, 
taking care not to dwell on either topic a moment longer than was 
necessary. The old judge’s look became benign; his family pride 
was propitiated, and, pleased equally with the modesty and civility 
of the young man whom he had thought forward and officious, he 
relaxed the scorn of his fealuies into an expression of profound at- 
tention; the highest compliment, and the greatest encouragement, 
which a judge can render to the counsel addressing him. 

Having succeeded in securing the favorable attention of the court, 
the young lawyer, using the lights which his father’s experience 


126 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


and knowledge of business had afforded him, proceeded with an 
address and clearness, unexpected from one of his years, to remove 
from the case itself those complicated formalities with which it had 
been loaded, as a surgeon strips from a wound the dressing; which 
had been hastily wrapped round it, in order to proceed to its cure 
secundum artem. Developed of the cumbrous and complicated 
technicalities of litigation, with which the perverse obstinacy of the 
client, the inconsiderate haste or ignorance of his agents, and the 
evasions of a subtle adversary, had invested tin process, the cause 
ot Poor Peter Peebles, standing upon its simple merits, was no bad 
subject for Ihe declamation of a young counsel, nor did our friend 
Alan fail to avail himself of its strong points. 

He exhibited his client as a simple-hearted, honest, well meaning 
man who, during a copartnership of twelve years, had gradually 
become impoverished, while his partner (his former clerk), having 
no funds but his share of Ihe same business, into which he had been 
admitted without any advance of stock, had become gradually more 
and more wealthy. 

“ Their association,” said Alan, and the little flight was received 
with some applause, “ resembled the ancient story of the fruit 
which was carved with a knife poisoned on one side ot the blade 
only, so that the individual to whom the envenomed portion was 
served, drew decay and death from what afforded savor and suste- 
nance to the consumer of the other moiety. ” He then rdunged boldly 
into the mare magnum ot accounts between the parties; he pursued 
each false statement from the waste-book to the day-book, from the 
day-book to the bill-book, from the bill-hook to the ledger; placed 
the artful interpolations and insertions of the fallacious Plainstanes 
in array against each other, and against the fact, and availing him- 
self to the utmost of his father’s previous labors, and his own 
knowledge of accounts, in which he had been sedulously trained, he 
laid before the Court a clear and intelligible statement of the affairs 
of the copartnery, showing, with precision, that a large balance 
must, at the dissolution, have been due to his client, sufficient to 
have enabled him to have carried on business on his own account, 
and thus to have retained his situation in society as an independent 
and industrious tradesman. “ But instead of this justice being vol- 
untarily rendered by the former clerk to his former master— by the 
party obliged to his benefactor — by one honest man to another— his 
wretched client had been compelled to follow his quondam clerk, 
his present debtor, from court to court; had found his just claims 
met with well-invented but unfounded counter-claims, had seen 
his party shift: his character of pursuer or defender, as often as 
Harlequin effects his transformations, till, in a chase so varied and so 
lung, the unhappy litigant had lost subtance, reputation, and almost 
the use of reason itself, and came before their lordships an object of 
thoughtless derision to the unreflecting, of compassion to the better- 
hearted, and of awful meditation to every one, who considered that, 
in a country where excellent laws were administered by upright and 
incorruptible judges, a man might pursue an almost indisputable 
claim through all the mazes of litigation; lose fortune, reputation, 
and reason itself in the chase, and now come before the Supreme 
Court of his country in the wretched condition of his unhappy 


REDGAUNTLET. 127 

client, a victim to protracted justice, and to that hope delayed which 
sickens the heart.’ 5 

The force of his appeal to feeling made as much impression on 
the Bench as had been previously effected by the clearness of Alan’s 
argument. The absurd form of Peter himself, with his tow wig, 
was fortunately not present to excite any ludicrous emotion, and 
the pause that took place when the young lawyer had concluded his 
speech, was followed by a murmur of approbation, which the ears 
of his father drank in as the sweetest sounds that had ever entered 
them. Many a hand of congratulation was thrust out to his grasp, 
trembling as it was with anxiety, and finally with delight;, his 
voice faltering as he replied, “ Ay, ay, 1 kend Alan was the lad to 
make a spoon or spoil a horn.”* 

The counsel on the other side arose, an old practitioner, who had 
noted too closely the impression made by Alan’s pleading, not to 
fear the consequences of an immediate decision. He paid the high- 
est compliments to his very young brother — ** the Benjamin, as he 
would presume to call him, of the learned Faculty — said the alleged 
hardships of Mr. Peebles were compensated by his being placed in 
a situation where the benevolence of their lordships had assigned 
him gratuitously such assistance as he might not otherwise have ob- 
tained at a high price— and allowed his young brother had put many 
things in such a new point of view, that, although he was quite cer- 
tain of his ability lo refute them, he was honestly desirous of hav 
ing a few hours to arrange his answer, in order to be able to follow 
Mr. Fairford from point to point. He had further to observe, there 
was one point of the case to which his brother, whose attention had 
been otherwise so wonderfully comprehensive, had not given the 
consideration which he expected; it was founded on the interpreta- 
tion of certain corespondence which had passed betwixt the parties 
soon after the dissolution of the copartnery.” 

The court having heard Mr. Tough, readily allowed him two 
days for preparing himself, hinting, at thesame time, that he might 
find his task difficult, and affording the young counsel, with high 
encomiums upon the mode in which he had acquitted himself, the 
choice of speaking, either now or at the next calling of the cause, 
upon the point which Plainstane’s lawyer had adverted to. 

Alan modestly apologized for what, in fact, had been an omission 
very pardonable in so complicated a case, and professed himself in- 
stantly ready to go through that corr )spondence, and prove that it 
was in form and substance exactly applicable to the view of the case 
he had submitted to their lordships. He applied to his father, who 
sat behind him, to hand him, from time to time, the letters in the 
order in which he meant to read and comment upon them. 

Old Counselor Tough had probably formed an ingenious enough 
scheme to blunt the effect of the young lawyer’s reasoning, by thus 
obliging him lo follow up a process of reasoning clear and complete 
in itself, by a hasty and extemporary appendix. It so, he seemed 
likely to be disappointed; for Alan was well prepared on this as on 
other parts of the cause, and recommenced his pleading with a de- 

* Said of an adventurous gypsy, who resolves at all risks to convert a sheep’s 

horn into a spoon. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


128 

gree of animation which added force even to what he had formerly 
stated, and might perhaps have occasioned the old gentlemen to 
regret his having again called him up, when his tatlier, as he 
handed him the letters, put one into his hand which produced a 
singular effect on the pleader. 

At the first glance he saw the paper had no reference to the affairs 
of Peter Peebles; but the first glance also showed him what, even at 
that time, and in that presence, he could not help reading, and 
which, being read, seemed totally to disconcert his ideas. He 
stopped short in his harangue — gazed on the paper with a look of 
surprise and horror — uttered an exclamation, and flinging down the 
brief which he had in his hand, hurried out of court without return- 
ing a single word of answer to the various questions, “ What was 
the matter?” “ Was he taken, unwell?” “ Should not a chair be 
called?” etc., etc., etc. 

The elder Mr. Fairtord, who remained seated, and looking as 
senseless as if he had been made of stone, was at length recalled to 
himself by the anxious inquiries of the judges and the counsel after 
his son’s health. He then rose with an air in which -was minded the 
deep habitual reverence in which he held the Court, with some in- 
ternal cause of agitation, and with difficulty mentioned something 
of a mistake — a piece of bad news— Alan, he hoped, would be well 
enough to-morrow. But, unable to proceed further, he clasped his 
hands logether, exclaiming, “ My son! my son!” and left the Court 
hastily, as if in pursuit of him. 

“ What’s the matter with the auld bitch next?”* said an acute 
metaphysical judge, though somewhat coarse in his manners, aside 
to his brethren. “ This is a daft cause, Bladderskate— first, it drives 
the poor man mad that aught it — then your nevoy goes daft with 
fright, and flies the pit — then this smart young hopeful is aff the 
hooks with too hard study. 1 fancy — and now auld Saunders Fair- 
ford is as lunatic as the best of them. What say ye till’t, ye bitch?” 

“ Nothing, my lord,” answered Bladderskate, much too formal 1o 
admire the levities in which his philosophical brother sometimes in- 
dulged — “ 1 say nothing, but pray to Heaven to keepourown wits.” 

“ Amen, amen,” answered his learned brother; “ for some of us 
have but few to spare.” 

The Court then arose, and the audience departed, greatly wonder- 
ing at the talent displayed by Alan Fairford at his first appearance 
in a case so difficult and so complicated, and assigning a hundred 
conjectural causes, each different from the others, for the singular 
interruption which had clouded his day of success. The worst of 
the whole was, that six agents, who had each come to the separate 
resolution of thrusting a retaining fee into Alan’s hand as he left the 
Court, shook their heads as they returned (he money into their 
leathern poucnes, and said ” that the lad was clever, but they would 
like to see more of him before they engaged him in the way of busi- 
ness— they did not like his louping away like a flea in a blanket.” 


* Tradition ascribes this whimsical style of language to the ingenious and 
philosophical Lord Kaimes. 


REDGAUXTLET. 


129 


CHAPTER 11. 

Had our friend Alexander Fairford known the consequences of 
his son’s abrupt retreat from the Court, which are mentioned in the 
end of the last chapter, it might have accomplished the prediction 
of the lively old judge, and driven him utterly distracted. As it 
was, he was miserable enough. His son had risen ten degrees 
higher in his estimation than ever, by his display of juridical tal- 
ents, which seemed to assure him that the applause of the judges 
and professors of the law, which, in his estimation, was worth that 
of all mankind besides, authorized to the fullest extent the advan- 
tageous estimate which even his parental partiality had been in- 
duced to form of Alan’s powers. On the other hand, he felt that 
he was himself a little humbled, from a disguise which he had prac- 
ticed toward this son of his hopes and wishes. 

The truth was, that on the morning of this eventful day, Mr. 
Alexander Fairford had received from his correspondent and friend, 
Provost Crosbie of Dumfries, a letter of the following tenor: 

“ Dear Sir, — Your respected favor of 25th ultimo, per favor of 
Mr. Darsie Latimer, reached me in safety, and I showed to the 
young gentleman such attention as he was pleased to accept of. 
The object of my present writing is twofold. First, the council are 
of opinion that you should now begin to stir in the thirlage cause; 
and they think they will be able, from evidence noviter repertum, to 
enable you to amend your condescendence upon the use and wont 
of the burgh, touching the grana insecta et illata. So you will 
please consider yourself as authorized to speak to Mr. Pest, and lay 
before him the papers which you will receive by the coach. The 
council think that a fee of two guineas may be sufficient on this 
occasion, as Mr. Pest had three for drawing the original condescend- 
ence. 

“ I take the opportunity of adding that there has been a great riot 
among the Solway fishermen, who have destroyed, in a masterful 
manner, the stake-nets set up near the mouth of this river; and 
have besides attacked the bouse of Quaker Geddes, one of the prin- 
cipal partners of the Tide- Net Fishing Company, and done a great 
deal of damage. Am sorry to add, Mr. Latimer was in the fray, 
and has not since been heard of. Murder is spoke of, but that may 
be a word of course. As the young gentleman has behaved rather 
oddly while in these parts, as in declining to dine with me more 
than once, and going about, the country with strolling fiddlers and 
such like, 1 rather hope that his present absence is only occasioned 
by a frolic; but as his servant has been making inquiries of me re- 
specting his master, I thought it best to acquaint you in course of 
post. 1 have only to add, that our sheriff has taken a precognition, 
and committed one or two of the rioters. If 1 can be useful in this 
malter, either by advertising for Mr. Latimer as missing, publishing 
a reward, or otherwise, I will obey your instructions, being your 
most obedient to command, 


A 


5 


“ William Crosbie.” 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


Jo 

When Mr. Fairford received this letter, and liad read it to an end y 
his first idea was to communicate it to his son, that an express might 
be instantly dispatched, or a king’s messenger sent with proper 
authority to search alter his late guest. 

The habits of the fisheries were rude, as he well knew, though 
not absolutely sanguinary or ferocious; and there had been instances 
of their transporting persons who had interfered in their smuggling 
trade to the Isle of Man, and elsewhere, and keeping them under 
restraint for many weeks. On this account, Mr. Fairford was natu- 
rally led to feel anxiety concerning the fate of his late inmate; 
and, at a less interesting moment, would certainly have set out him- 
self, or licensed his son to go in pursuit of his friend. 

But, alas! he was both a father and an agent. ]u the one capac- 
ity. he looked on his son as dearer to him than all the world besides., 
in the other, the lawsuit which he conducted was to him like an 
infant to its nurse, and the case of Poor Peter Peebles against Plain- 
stanes was, he saw, adjourned, perhaps sine die, should this docu- 
ment reach the hands of his son. The mutual and enthusiastical 
affection betwixt the young men was well known to him; and he 
concluded that, if the precarious state of Latimer were made known 
to Alan Fairford, it would render him not only unwilling, but 
totally unfit, to discharge the duty of the day, to which the old gen- 
tleman attached such ideas of importance 

On mature reflection, therefore, he resolved, though not without 
some feelings of compunction, to delay communicating to his son 
the disagreeable intelligence- which he had received, until the busi- 
ness of the day should be ended. The delay, he persuaded himself, 
could be of little consequence to Darsie Latimer, whose folly, he 
dared to say, had led him into some scrape which would meet an 
appropriate punishment, in some accidental restraint, which would 
be thus prolonged for only a few hours longer. Besides, he would 
have time to speak to the sheriff of the county— perhaps to the 
King’s Advocate — and set about the matter in a regular manner, or, 
as he termed it, as summing up the duties of a solicitor to age as 
accords .* 

The scheme, as we have seen, was partially successful, and was 
only ultimately defeated, as he confessed himself with shame, by 
his own very unbusiness-like mistake of shuffling the Provost’s let- 
ter, in the hurry and anxiety of the morning, among some papers 
belonging to Peter Peebles’s affairs, and then handing it to his son, 
without observing the blunder. lie used to protest, even till the 
day of his death, that he never had been guilty of such an inac- 
curacy as giving a paper out of his band without looking at the 
docketing, except on that unhappy occasion, when, of all others, he 
had such particular reason to regret his negligence. 

Disturbed by these reflections, the old gentleman had, for the 
first time in his life, some disinclination, arising from shame and 
vexatiou, to face his own son; so that to protract for a little the 
meeting, which he feared would be a painful one, he went to wait 

* Scots law phrase, of no very determinate import, meaning, generally, to do 
what is fitting. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


131 


upon the sheriff depute, who he found had set off for Dumfries, in 
great haste, to superintend in person the investigation which had 
been set on foot by his substitute. This gentleman’s clerk could 
say little on the subject of the riot, excepting that it had been 
serious, much damage done to property, and some personal violence 
offered to individuals, but as far as he had yet heard, no lives lost 
on the spot. 

Mr. Fairford was compelled to return home with this intelligence; 
and on inquiring of James Wilkinson where his son was, received 
for answer, “That Master Alan was in his own room, and very 
busy.” 

“ We must have our explanation over,” said Saunders Fairford to 
himself. “ Better a finger off, as aye wagging;” and going to the 
door of his son’s apartment, he knocked at first gently— then more 
loudly — but received no answer. Somewhat alarmed at this silence, 
he opened the door of the chamber — it was empty — clothes lay 
mixed in confusion with the law books and papers, as it the inmate 
had been engaged in hastily packing for a journey. As Mr. Fair- 
ford looked around in alarm, his eye was arrested by a sealed letter 
lying upon his son’s writing-table, and addressed to himself. It 
contained the following words: — 

“ My dearest Father,— You will not, I trust, be surprised, nor 
Derliaps very much displeased, to learn that I am on my way to Dum- 
friesshire, to learn, by my own personal investigation, the present 
state of my dear friend, and afford him such relief as may be in my 
power, and which, 1 trust, will be effectual. 1 do not presume to 
reflect upon you, dearest sir, for concealing from me infoimation 
of so much consequence to my peace of mind and happiness; but I 
hope your having done so will be, if not an excuse, at last some 
mitigation of my present offense, in taking a step of consequence 
without consulting your pleasure; and I must further own, under 
circumstances which perhaps might lead to your disapprobation of 
my purpose. 1 can only say, in further apology, that if anything 
unhappy, which Heaven forbid! shall have occurred to the person 
who, next to yourself, is dearest to me iD this world, I shall have on 
my heart, as a subject of eternal regret, that, being in a certain de- 
gree warned of his danger, and furnished with the means of obviat- 
ing ii, 1 did not instantly hasten to his assistance, but preferred giv- 
ing my attention to the business of this unlucky morning. Ho view 
of personal distinction, nothing, indeed, short of your earnest and 
often expressed wishes, could have detained me in town till this 
day; and having made this sacrifice to filial duty, 1 trust you will 
hold me excused, if 1 now obey the calls of friendship and human- 
ity. Do not be in the least anxious on my account; 1 shall know, 1 
trust, how to conduct myself with due caution in any emergence 
which may occur, otherwise my legal studies for so many years have 
been to little purpose. 1 am fully provided with money, and also 
with arms, in case of need; but you may rely on my prudence in 
avoiding all occasions of using the latter, short of the last neces- 
sity. God Almighty bless you, my dearest father! and grant that 
3 r ou may forgive tire first, and, I trust, the last act approaching 
toward premeditated disobedience, of which 1 either have now, or 


132 


REDGAUKTLET. 


shall hereafter have to accuse mvself. 1 remain, till death, your 
dutiful and affectionate son, 

“ Alan Fairford. 

“ P.S. — I shall write with the utmost regularity, acquainting you 
with my motions, and requesting your advice. 1 trust my stay 
will be very short, and I think it possible that I may bring back 
Darsie along with me.” 

The paper dropped from the old man’s hand when he was thus as- 
sured of the misfortune w T hich he appiehended. His first idea was to* 
get a post-chaise ana pursue the fugitive; but he recollected, that, 
upon l he very rare occasions when Alan had shown himself indocile* 
to ttie patria poteslas, his natural ease and gentleness of disposition: 
seemed hardened into obstinacy; and that now, entitled, as arrived 
at the years of majority, and a member of the learned Faculty, to 
direct his own motions, there was a great doubt, whetbei, in the 
event of his overtaking his son, he might be able to prevail upon 
him to return back. In such a risk of failure, he thought it wiser to 
desist from his purpose, especially as even his success in such a pur- 
suit would give a ridiculous eclat to the whole affair, which could not 
be otherwise than prejudicial to his son’s rising character. 

Bitter, however, were Saunders Fairford’s reflections, as, again 
picking up the fatal scroll he threw himself into his son’s leathern 
easy -chair, and bestowed upon it a disjointed commentary. “ Bring 
back Darsie! little doubt of that — the bad shilling is sure enough to 
come back again. 1 wish Darse no worse ill than that he were car- 
ried where the silly fool, Alan, should never see him again. It was 
an ill hour that he darkened my doors in, for, ever since that, Alan 
lias given up his ain old-fashioned mother-wit, for t’other’s caper- 
noited maggot and nonsense. Provided with money? you must have 
more than I know of, then, my friend, for 1 trow r I kept you pretty 
short, for your own good. Can he have gotten more fees? or, does 
he think five guineas has neither beginning nor end? Arms! What 
would he do with arms, or what would any man do with them that 
is not a regular soldier under Government, or else a thief-taker? 1 
have had enough of arms, I trow, although 1 carried them for King 
George and the Government. But this is a worse strait thau Fal- 
kirk-field yet. God guide us, we are poor inconsistent creatures I 
To think the lad should have made so able an appearance, and then 
bolted off this gate, after a glaiket ne’er-do-weel, like a hound upon 
a false scent! Las-a-day! it’s a sore thing to see a stunkard cow kick 
down the pail wdien it’s reaming fou. But, after all, it’s an ill bird 
that defiles its ain nest. 1 must cover up the scandal as well as I 
can. What’s the matter now, James?” 

“ A message, sir,” said James Wilkinson, “ from my Lord Presi- 
dent: and he hopes Mr. Alan is not seriously indisposed.” 

“ From the Lord President? the Lord preserve us! I’ll send an 
answer this instant; bid the lad sit down, and ask him to drink, 
James. Let me see,” continued he, taking a sheet of gilt paper, 

how are we to draw our answers.” 

Ere his pen had touched the paper, James was in the room again. 

“ What now, James?” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


133 

“Lord Bladderskate’s lad is come to ask liow Mr. Alan is, as lie 
left the Court — ” 

“ Ay, ay, ay,” answered Saunders, bitterly; “ he has e’en made 
a moonlight flitting, like my lord’s ain nevoy.” 

“ Shall I say sae, sir?” said James, who, as an old soldier, was 
literal in all things touching the service. 

“ The devil! no, no! Bid the lad sit down and taste our ale. 1 
will write his lordship an answer.” 

Once more the gilt paper was resumed, and once more the door 
was opened by James. 

“ Lord sends his servitor to ask after Mr. Alan.” 

“ Oh, the deevil take their civility!” said poor Saunders. “ Sit 
him down to drink too — 1 will write to his lordship.” 

” The lads will bide your pleasure, sir, as lang as 1 keep the 
bicker fou; but this ringing is like to wear out the bell, 1 think; 
there are they at it again.” 

He answered the fresh summons accordingly, and came back to 
inform Mr. Fairford, that the Dean of Faculty was below, inquiring 
for Mr. Alan. “ Will 1 set him down to drink, too?” said James. 

” Will you be an idiot, sir?” said Mr. Fairford. “ Show Mr. Dean 
into the parlor.” 

In going slowly down-stairs, step by step, the perplexed man of 
business had time enough to reflect, that if it be possible to put a 
fair gloss upon a true story, the verily always serves the purpose 
better than any substitute which ingenuity can devise. He therefore 
told his learned visitor, that although his son had been incommoded 
by the beat of the court, and the long train of hard study, by day 
and night, preceding his exertions, yet he had fortunately so far re- 
covered, as to be in a condition to obey upon the instant a sudden 
summons which had called him to the country, on a matter of life 
and death. 

” It should be a serious matter indeed that takes my young fiiend 
away at this moment,” said the good-natured dean. ”1 wish he 
had stayed to finish his pleading, and put down old Tough. With- 
out compliment, Mr. Fairford, it was as fine a first appearance as 
ever 1 heard. 1 should be sorry your son did not follow it up in 
a reply. Nothing like striking while the iron is hot.” 

Mr. Saunders Fairford made a bitter grimace as he acquiesced in 
an opinion which was indeed decidedly bis own; but he thought it 
most prudent to reply, “ that the affair which rendered liis son 
Alan’s presence in the country absolutely necessary, regarded the 
affairs of a young gentleman of great fortune, who was a particular 
friend of Alan’s, and who never took any material step in his affairs, 
without consulting his counsel learned in the law.” 

” Well, well, Mr. Fairford, you know best,” answered the learned 
dean; it there be death or marriage in the case, a will ora wedding 
is to be preferred to all other business. 1 am 'nappy Mr. Alan is so 
much recovered as to be able to travel, and wish you a very good- 
morning.” 

Having thus taken his ground to the Dean ol Faculty, Mr. Fair- 
ford hastily w r rote cards in answer to the inquiry of the three judges, 
accounting for Alan’s absence in the same manner. These being 
properly sealed and addressed, he delivered to James, with directions 


134 


REDGAUNTLET. 


to dismiss the parti-colored gentry, who, in the meanwhile, had con- 
sumed a gallon of twopenny ale, while discussing points of law, 
and addressing each other by their master’s titles.* 

The exertion which these matters demanded, and the interest 
which so many persons of legal distinction appeared to have taken 
in his son, greatly relieved the oppressed spirit of Saunders Fairford, 
who continued to talk mysteriously of the very important business 
which had interfered with his son s attendance during the brief re- 
mainder of the session. He endeavored to lay the same unction to 
his own heart; but here the application was less foitunate, for his 
conscience told him, that no end, however important, which could 
be achieved in Darsie Latimer’s affairs, could be balanced against 
the reputation which Alan was like to forleit by deserting the cause 
of poor Peter Peebles. 

In the meanwhile, although the haze which surrounded the cause, 
or causes, of that unfortunate litigant had been for a time dispelled 
by Alan’s eloquence, like a fog by the thunder of artillery, yet it 
seemed once more to settle down upon the mass of litigation, thick 
as the palpable darknessof Egypt, at the very sound of Mr. Tough’s 
voice, who, on the second day after Alan’s departure, was heard in 
answer to the opening counsel. Deep-mouthed, long-breathed, and 
peitinacious; taking a pinch of snuff betwixt every sentence, which 
otherwise seemed interminable— the veteran pleader prosed over all 
the themes which had been treated so luminously by Fairford; he 
quietly and imperceptibly replaced all the rubbish which the other 
had cleared away; and succeeded in restoring Ihe veil of obscurity 
and unintelligibility which had for many years darkened the case 
of Peebles against Plainstanes; and the matter was once more hung 
up by a remit to an accountant, with instruction to report before an- 
swer. So different a result from that which the public bad been led 
to expect from Alan’s speech, gave rise to various speculations. 

The client himself opined, that it was entirely owing first, to his 
own absence during the first day’s pleading, being as he said, de- 
boshed with brandy, usquebaugh, and other strong waters, at John’s 
Coffee-house, per ambages of Peter Drudgeit, employed to that effect 
by and through the device, counsel, and covyne of Saunders Fair- 
ford, his agent, or pretended agent. Secondly, by the flight and 
voluntary desertion of the younger Fairford, the advocate; on ac- 
count of which he served both father and son with a petition and 
complaint against them, for malversation in office. So that the ap- 
parent and most probable issue of this cause seemed to menace the 
melancholy Mr. Saunders Fairford with additional subject for 
plague and mortification; which was the moie galling, as his con- 
science told him that the case was really given away, and that a 
very brief resumption of the former argument with reference to the 
necessary authorities and points of evidence, would have enabled 

* The Scottish judges are distinguished by the title of lord prefixed to their 
own temporal designation. As the ladies of these official dignitaries do not 
bear any share in their husband’s honors, they are distinguished only by their 
lords’ family name. They were not always contented with this species of Salique 
law, which certainly is somewhat inconsistent. But their pretentions to title 
are said to have been long since repelled by James V., the Sovereign who 
founded the College of Justice. “ I,” said he, “ made the carles lords, but who 
the devil made the carlines ladies?” 


REDGAUJTTLET. 


135 


Alan, by the mere brealh, as it were, ot bis mouth to blow away the 
various cobwebs with which Mr. Tough had again invested the pro- 
ceedings. But it went, he said, just like a decreet in absence, and 
was lost tor want of a contradictor. 

In the meanwhile, nearly a week passed over without Mr. Fair- 
ford hearing a word diiectly from his son. He learned, indeed, by 
a letter from Mr. Crosbie, that the young counselor had safely 
reached Dumfries, but had left that town upon some ulterior re- 
searches, the purpose of which he had not communicated. The old 
man, thus left to suspense, and to mortifying recollections, deprived 
also of the domestic society to which he had been habituated, began 
to suffer in body as well as in mind. He had formed the determi- 
nation of selling out in person tor Dumfriesshire, when, after having 
been dogged, peevish, and snappish to his clerks and domestics, to 
an unusual and almost intolerable degree, the acrimonious humors 
settled in a hissing-hot fit of the gout, which is a well-known tamer 
of the most Howard spirits, and under whose discipline we shall, for 
the present, leave him, as the continuation of this history assumes, 
with the next division, a form somewhat different from direct nar- 
rative and epistolary correspondence, though partaking of the char- 
acter of both. 


CHAPTER 111. 

JOURNAL OF DARSIE LATIMER. 

The following Address is written on the inside of the envelope which contained 

the Journal. 

Into what hands soever these leaves may fall, they will instruct 
him, during a certain time at least, in the history of the life of an 
unfortunate j r oung man, who in the heart of a free country, and 
without any crime being laid to his charge, has been, and is, sub- 
jected to a course of unlawful and violent restraint. He who opens 
this letter, is therefore conjured to apply to t lie nearest magistrate, 
and, following such indications as the papers may aflord, to exert 
himself for the ielief of one, who, while he possesses every claim to 
assistance, which oppressed innocence can give, has, at the same 
time, both the inclination and the meins of being grateful to his de- 
liverers. Or if the person obtaining these letters shall want courage 
or means to effect the writer’s release, he is, in that case, conjured, 
by every duty of a man to his fellow mortals, and of a Christian 
toward one who professes the same holy faith, to take the speediest 
measures for conveying them with speed and safety to the hands of 
Alan Fairford, Esq., Advocate, residing in the family of his father, 
Alexander Fairford, Esq., Writer to the Signet, Brown’s Square, 
Edinburgh. He may be assured of a libeial reward, besides the 
consciousness of having discharged a real duty to humanity. 

My dearest Alan, — Feeling as warmly toward you in doubt 
and in distress as 1 ever did in the brightest days of our intimacy, it 
is to you whom 1 address a history which may perhaps tall into 
very different hands. A portion of my former spirit descends, to 
my pen, when 1 write your name, and indulging the happy thought 


REDGAUNTLET. 


136 

that you may be my deliverer from my present uncomfortable and 
alarming situation, as you have been my guide aud counselor on 
every former occasion, 1 will subdue the dejeciion which would 
otherwise overwhelm me. Therefore, as Heaven knows 1 have 
time enough to write, 1 will endeavor to pour my thoughts out as 
fully and freely as of old. though probably without the same gay and 
happy levity. 

If the papers should reach other hands than yours, still I will not 
regret this exposure of my feelings; for, allowing for an ample 
share of the folly incidental to youth and inexperience, I fear not 
that I have much to be ashamed of in my narrative; nay, 1 even 
hope, that the open simplicity' and frankness wilh which 1 am about 
to relate every singular and distressing circumstance, may prepos- 
sess even a stranger in ray favor; and that, amid the multitude of 
seemingly trivial circumstances which 1 detail at length, a clew 
may be found to efiect my liberation. 

Another chance certainly remains— the Journal, as 1 may call it, 
may never reach the hands, either of the dear friend to whom it is 
addressed, or those of an indifferent stranger, but may become the 
prey of the persons by whom 1 am at present treated as a prisoner. 
Let it be so; they will learn from it little but what they already 
know; that, as a man, and an Englishman, my soul revolts at the 
usage which 1 have received; that I am determined to essay every 
possible means to obtain my freedom; that captivity has not broken 
my spirit, and that, although they may doubtless complete their 
oppression by murder, I am still willing to bequeath my case to the 
justice of my country. Undeterred, therefore, by the* probability 
that my papers may be torn from me, and subjected to tne inspec- 
tion of one in particular, who, causelessly my enemy, may be yet 
further incensed at me for recoiding the history of my wrongs, 1 
proceed to resume the history of events which have befallen me 
since the conclusion of my last letter to my dear Alan Fairford, 
dated, if 1 mistake not, on the 5th day of this still current month 
of August. 

Upon the night preceding the date of that letter I had been 
present, for the purpose of an idle frolic, at a dancing party at the 
village of Brokenburn, about six miles from Dumfries; many per- 
sons must have seen me there, should the fact appear of importance 
sufficient to require investigation. 1 danced, played on the violin, 
and took part in the festivity till about midnight, when my servant, 
Samuel Owen, brought me my horses, and 1 rode back to a small 
inn called Shepherd’s Bush, kept by Mrs. Gregson, which had been 
occasionally my residence for about a fortnight past. I spent the 
earlier part of the foienoon in writing a letter, which I have already 
mentioned to you, my dear Alan, and which, 1 think, you must 
have received in safety. Why did I not follow your advice, so of- 
ten given me? Why did 1 linger in the neighborhood of a danger, 
of which a kind voice had warned me? These are now unavailing 
questions; I was blinded by a fatality, and remained, fluttering like 
a moth around the candle, until 1 have been scorched to some pur- 
pose. 

1 he greater part of the day had passed, and time hung heavy on 


REDGAUNTLET. 


13 ? 

my hands. 1 ought, peihaps, to blush at recollecting what has 
been often objected to me by the dear friend to whom this letter is 
addressed— viz., the facility with which 1 have in moments of in- 
dolence suffered my motions to be directed by any person wha 
chanced to be near me, instead of taking the labor of thinking or 
deciding for myself. 1 had employed for some time, as a sort of 
guide and errand-boy, a lad named Benjamin, the son of one widow 
Coltherd, who lives near the Shepherd’s Bush, and 1 can not but 
remember that, upon several occasions, 1 had of late suffered him to 
possess more influence over my motions than at all became the 
difference of our age and condition. At present he exerted himself 
to persuade me that it was the finest possible sport to see the fish 
taken out from the nets placed in the Solway at the reflux of the 
tide, and urged my going thither this evening so much, that, look- 
ing back on the whole circumstances, 1 can not but think he had 
some especial motive for his conduct. These particulars I have 
mentioned, that, if these papers tall into friendly hands, the boy- 
may be sought after and submitted to examination. 

His eloquence being unable to persuade me that 1 should take 
any pleasure in seeing the fruitless struggles of the fish when left 
in the nets and deserted by the tide, he artfully suggested that Mr. 
and Miss Geddes, a respectable Quaker family well known in the 
neighborhood, and with whom 1 nad contracted habits of intimacy, 
would possibly be offended if I did not make them an earl} r visit. 
Both, he said, bad been particularly inquiring the reasons of my 
leaving their house rather suddenly on the previous day. 1 re- 
solved, therefore, to walk up to Mount Sharon and make my apol- 
ogies; and 1 agreed to permit the boy to attend upon me, and wait 
my return from the house, that 1 might fish on my way homeward 
to Shepherd’s Bush, for which amusement, he assured me, I would 
find the evening most favorable. 1 mention this minute circum- 
stance, because 1 strongly suspect that this boy had a presentiment 
how the evening was to terminate with me, and entertained the 
selfish though childish wish of securing to himself an angling-rod 
which he had often admired, as a part of my spoils. 1 may do the 
boy wrong, but I had before remarked in him the peculiar art of 
pursuing the trifling objects of cupidity proper to his age, with the 
systematic address of much liper years 

When we had commenced our walk 1 upbraided him with the 
coolness of the evening, considering the season, the easterly wind, 
and other circumstances, unfavorable for angling. He persisted in 
his ow r n story, and made a few casts as if to convince me of my 
error, but caught no fish; and, indeed, as I am now convinced, was 
much more intent on w T atching my motions than on taking any. 
When 1 ridiculed him once more on his fruitless endeavors he 
answered with a sneering smile that “ the trouts would not rise, be- 
cause there was thunder in the air;” an intimation which, in one 
sense, 1 have found too true. 

I arrived at Mount Sharon; was received by my friends there 
with their wonted kindness; and after being a little rallied on my 
having suddenly left them on the preceding evening, 1 agreed to 
make atonement by staying all night, and dismissed the lad who 
attended with my fishing-rod, to carry that information to Shep- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


138 

Jaerd’s Busb. It may be doubted whether he went thither, or in a 
dilterent direction. 

Betwixt eight and nine o’clock, when it began to become dark, 
we walked on the terrace to enjoy the appearance of the firmament, 
glitteriug with ten million of stars; to which a slight touch of early 
frost gave tenfold luster. As we gazed on this splendid scene, Miss 
Geddes, 1 think, was the first to point out to our admiration a 
shooting or falling star, which, she said, drew' a long train after it. 
Looking to the part of the heavens which she pointed out 1 dis- 
tinctly observed two successive sky-rockets arise and burst in the 
sky. 

“ These meteors,” said Mr. Geddes, in answer to his sister’s ob- 
servation, “ are not formed in heaven, nor do they bode any good 
to the dwellers upon earth.” 

As he spoke 1 looked to another quarter of the sky, and a rocket, 
as if a signal in answer to those which had already appeared, rose 
high from the earth, and burst apparently among the stars. 

Mr. Geddes seemed very thoughtful for some minutes, and then 
said to his sister, “ Rachel, though it waxes late, I must go down 
to the fishing station, and pass the night in the overseer’s room 
there.” 

Kay, then,” replied the lady, ‘‘ 1 am but to well assuied that 
the sons of Belial are menacing these nets and devices. Joshua, art 
thou a man of peace, and wilt thou willingly and wittingly thrust 
thyself where thou mayest be tempted by the old man Adam within 
thee, to enter into debate and strife?” 

‘‘1 am a man of peace, Rachel,” answ'ered Mr. Geddes, “ even 
to the utmost extent which our friends can demand of humauity; 
and neither have 1 ever used, nor, with the help of God, will 1 at 
any future time employ the arm of flesh to repel or to revenge in- 
juries. But if 1 can, by mild reasons and firm conduct, save those 
rude men from committing a crime, and the property belonging to 
myself and others from sustaining damage, surely, 1 do but the 
duty of a man and a Christian.” 

With these words lib ordered his horse instantly; and his sister, 
ceasing to argue with him, folded her arms upon her bosom, and 
looked up to heaven with a resigned and yet sorrowful countenance. 

These particulars may appear trivial; but it is better, in my pres- 
ent condition, to exert my faculties in recollecting the past, and in 
recording it, than waste them in vain and anxious anticipations of 
the future. 

It would have been scarcely proper in me to remain in the house, 
from which the master was thus suddenly summoned away; and I 
therefore begged permission to attend him to Ihe fisliiug station, 
assuring his sister that I would be a guarantee for his safety. 

The proposal seemed to give much pleasure to Miss Geddes. 
“ Let it be so, brother,” she said; “ and let the young man have 
the desire of his heart, that there may be a faithful witness to stand 
by thee in the hour of need, and to report how it shall fare with 
thee.” 

“Kay, Rachel,” said the worthy man, “thou art to blame in 
this, that to quiet thy apprehensions on my account thou sliouldst 
thrust into danger — it danger it shall prove to be — this youth, our 


REDGAUNTLET. 139 

guest; for whom, doubtless, in case ot mishap, as many hearts will 
ache as may be afflicted on our account.” 

‘‘No, my good friend,” said 1, taking Mr. Geddes’s hand, “ 1 am 
not so happy as you suppose me. Were my span to be concluded 
this evening few would so much as know that such a being had ex- 
isted tor twenty years on the face of the earth; and of these few, 
only one would sincerely'regret me. Do not, therefore, refuse me 
the privilege of attending you; and of showing, by so trifling an 
act of kindness, that if I have few friends, 1 am at least desirous to 
serve them.” 

“ Thou hast a kind heart, I warrant thee.” said Joshua Geddes, 
returning the pressure of my hand. ** Rachel, the young man shall 
go with me. Why should he not face danger in order to do justice 
and preserve peace? There is that within me,” he added, looking 
upward, and with a passing enthusiasm which 1 had not before 
observed, and the absence of which perhaps rather belonged to the 
sect than to his own personal character—” I say, 1 have that within 
which assures me, that though the ungodly may rage even like, the 
storm ot the ocean, they shall not have freedom to prevail against 

IIS.” 

Having spoken thus Mr. Geddes appointed a pony to be saddled 
for my use: and having taken a basket with some provisions, and 
a servant to carry back the horses, for which there was no accom- 
modation at the fishing station, we set off about nine o’clock at 
night, and after three quarters ot an hour’s riding, arrived at our 
nlace of destination. 

The station consists, or then consisted, of huts for four or five 
fishermen, a cooperage and shed, and a better sort of cottage, at 
which the superintendent resided. We gave our horses to the serv- 
ant, to be carried back to Mount Sharon; my companion expressing 
himself humanely anxious for their safety — and knocked at the door 
of the house. At first we only heard a barking of dogs; but these 
animals became quiet on snuffing beneath the door, and acknowl- 
edging the presence of friends. A hoarse voice then demanded, in 
rather unfriendly accents, who we were, and what we wanted; and 
it was not until Joshua named himself, and called upon his super- 
intendent to open, that the latter appeared at the door of the hut, 
attended by three large dogs of the Newfoundland breed. He had a 
flambeau in his hand, and Iwo large heavy ship-pistols stuck into 
his belt. He was a stout elderly man, who had been a sailor, as I 
learned, during the earlier part of his life, and was now much con- 
fided in by the Fishing Company, whose concerns he directed under 
the orders of Mr. Geddes. 

” Thou didst not expect me to-night, friend Davies?” said my 
friend to the old man, who was arranging seats for us by the fire. 

“No, Master Geddes,” answered he, ” I did not expect you, nor, 
to speak the truth, did I wish for you, either.” 

” These are plain terms, John Davies,” answered Mr. Geddes. 

” Ay, ay, sir, 1 know your worship loves no holiday speeches.” 

‘‘ Thou dost guess, 1 suppose, what brings us here so late, John 
Davies?” said Mr. Geddes. 

44 1 do suppose, sii,” answered the superintendent, “that it was 
because those d d smuggling wreckers on the coast are showing 


140 


REDGAUNTI/ET. 


their lights to gather their forces, as they did the night before they 
broke down the dam-dike and wears up the country; but if that 
same be the case, 1 wish once more you had stayed away, tor your 
worship carries no fighting tackle aboard, 1 think; and there will be 
work for such ere morning, your worship.” 

“ Worship is due to Heaven only, John Davies,” said Geddes. 
“ 1 have often desired thee to desist from using that phrase to me.” 

“ 1 won’t, then,” said John; “ no offense meant. But how the 
devil can a man stand picking his words, when he is just going to 
come to blows?” 

“ 1 hope not, John Davies,” said Joshua Geddes. “ Call in the 
rest of the men, that 1 may give them their instructions.” 

“ 1 may cry till doomsday, Master Geddes, ere a soul answers — 
the cowardly lubbers have all made sail— the cooper, and all the 
rest of them* so soon as they heard the enemy were at sea. They 
have all taken to the long boat, and left the ship among the breakers, 
except little Phil and myself — they have, by — 1” 

“ Swear not at all, John Davies— thou art an honest man; and 1 
believe without an oath that thy comrades love their own bones bet- 
ter than my goods and chattels. And so thou hast no assistance 
but little Phil against a hundred men or two?” 

“ Why, there are the- dogs, your honor knows, Neptune and 
Thetis— and the puppy may do something; and then, though your 
worshp — 1 beg pardon— though your honor be no great fighter, this 
young gentleman may bear a hand.” 

“ Ay, and 1 see you are provided with arms,” said Mr. Geddes; 
‘‘ let me see them.” 

“ Ay, ay, sir; here be a pair of buffers will bite as well as bark — 
these will make sure of two rogues at least. It would be a shame 
to strike without firing a shot. Take care, your honor, they are 
double-shotted.” 

“ Ay, John Davies, 1 will take care of them,” throwing the pistols 
into a tub of water beside him; and 1 wish 1 could render the 
whole generation of them useless at the same moment.” 

A deep shade of displeasure passed over John Davies’s weather- 
beaten countenance. Belike your honor is going to take command 
yourself, then?” he said, after a pause. “ Why, 1 can be of little 
use now; and since your worship, or your honor, or whatever you 
are, means to strike quietly, 1 believe you will do it better without 
me than with me, for 1 am like-enough to make mischief, 1 admit, 
but i’ll never leave my post without orders.” 

“Then you have mine. John Davies, to go to Mount Sharon 
directly, and take the boy Phil with you. Where is he?” 

“He is on the outlook for these scums of the earth,” answered 
Davies; “ but it is to no purpose to know when they come, if we 
are not to stand to our weapons.” 

“ We will use none but those of sense and reason, John.” 

“ And you may just as well cast chaff against the wind, as speak 
sense and reason to the like of them.” 

“ Well, well, be it so,” said Joshua, “ and now, John Davies, 1 
know tbou art what the world calls a brave fellow, and 1 have ever 
found thee an honest one. And now I command you to go to 
Mount Sharon, and let Phil lie on the bank-side— see the poor boy 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


141 


bath a sea-cloak, though — and watch what happens there, and let 
him bring ynu the news; and if any violence shall be offered to the 
property there, 1 trust to your fidelity to carry my sister to Dum- 
fries, to the house of our friends the Corsacks, and inform the civil 
authorities of what mischief hath befallen.” 

The old seaman paused a moment. ‘‘It is hard lines for me,” 
he said, “ to leave } T our honor in tribulation; and yet, staying here, 1 
am only like to make bad worse; and your honor’s sister, Miss 
Rachel, must be looked to, that’s certain; for it the rogues once get 
their hand to mischief, they will come to Mount Sharon after they 
have wasted and destroyed this here snug little roadstead, where 1 
thought to ride at anchor for life.” 

‘‘Right, right, John Davies,” said Joshua Geddes; “and best 
call the dogs with you.” 

“ Ay, ay, sir,” said the veteran, “ for they are something of my 
mind, and would not keep quiet if they saw mischief doing; so 
may be they might come to mischief, poor dumb creatures. So God 
bless your honor — 1 mean your worship— 1 can not bring my 
mouth to say fare-you- well. Here, Neptune, Thetis! come, dogs, 
come.” 

So saymg, and with a very crestfallen countenance, John Davies 
left the hut. 

“ Now there goes one of the best and most faithful creatures that 
ever was born,” said Mr. Geddes, as the superintendent shut the 
door of the cottage. “ Nature made him with a heart that would 
not have suffered him to harm a fly; but thou seest. Friend Latimer, 
that as men arm their bull-dogs with spiked collars, and their game 
cocks with steel spurs, to aid them in fight, so they corrupt by 
education the best and mildest uatures, until fortitude and spirit 
become stubbornness and ferocity. Believe, Friend Latimer, 1 
would as soon expose my faithful household dog to a vain combat 
with a herd of wolves, as yon trusty creature to the violence of the 
enraged multitude. But 1 need say little on this subject to thee, 
Friend Latimer, who, 1 doubt not, are trained to believe that cour- 
age is displayed and honor attained, not by doing and suffering, as 
becomes a man, that which fate calls us to suffer and justice com- 
mands us to do, but because thou art ready to retort violence for 
violence, and considerest the lightest insult as a sufficient cause for 
the spilling of blood, nay, the taking of life. But, leaving these 
points of controversy to a more fit season, let us see what our basket 
of provision contains; for in truth, Friend Latimer, 1 am one of 
those whom neither fear nor anxiety deprives of their ordinary ap- 
petite.” 

We found the means of good cheer accordingly, which Mr. Geddes 
seemed to enjoy as much as if it had been eaten in a situation of 
perfect safety; nay, his conversation appeared to be rather more gay 
than on ordinary occasions. After eating our supper, w r e left the 
hut together, and walked for a few minutes on the banks of the sea. 
It was high water, and the ebb had not yet commenced. The moon 
shone broad and bright upon the placid face of the Solway Fnth, 
and showed a slight ripple upon the stakes, the tops of which were 
just visible above the waves, and on the dark-colored buoys which 
marked the upper edge of the inclosure of nets. At a much greater 


U2 


REDGAUNTLET. 


distance — for the estuary is here very -wide — the line of the English 
coast was seen on the verge of the water, resembling one of those 
fog-banks on which mariners are said to gaze, uncertain whether it 
be land or atmospherical delusion. 

“ We shall be undisturbed for some hours/' said Mr. Geddes.; 
“ they will not come down upon us till the state of the tide permits 
them to deslroy the tide- nets. Is it not strange to think that human 
passions will so soon transform such a tranquil scene as this into 
one of devastation and confusion?” 

It was indeed a scene of exquisite stillness; so much so that the 
restless waves of the Solway seemed, if not absolutely to sleep, at 
least, to slumber; on the shore no night-bird was heard — the cock 
had not sung his first matins, and we ourselves walked more lightly 
than by day, as if to suit the sounds of our own paces to the serene 
tranquillity around us. At length, the plaintive cry of a dog broke 
the silence, and on our return to the cottage, we found that the 
younger of the three animals which had gone along with John 
Davies, unaccustomed, perhaps, to distant journeys, and the duty 
of following to heel, had strayed from the party, and unable to 
rejoin them, had wandered back to the place of its birth. 

“Another feeble addition to our feeble garrison,” said Mr. 
Geddes, as he caressed the dog, and admitted it into the cottage. 
“ Poor thing! as thou art incapable of doing any mischief, 1 hope 
thou wilt sustain none. At least thou mayst do us the good service 
of a sentinel, and permit us to enjoy a quiet repose, under the cer- 
tainty that *hou wilt alarm us when the enemy is at hand." 

Tiiere were two beds in the superintendent’s room, upon which 
we threw ourselves. Mr. Geddes, with his happy equanimity of 
temper, was asleep in the first five minutes. 1 lay for some time in 
doubtful and anxious thoughts, watching the fire and the motions 
of the restless dog, which, disturbed probably at the absence of John 
Davies, wandered fiom the hearth to the door and back again, then 
came to the bedside and licked my hands and face, and at length, 
experiencing no repulse to its advances, established itself at my feet, 
and went to" sleep, an example which 1 soon afterward followed. 

The rage of narration, my dear Alan— for 1 will never relinquish 
the hope that what I am writing may one day reach your hands — 
has not forsaken me, even in "my confinement, and "the extensive 
though unimportant details into which 1 have been hurried, renders 
it necessary that I commence another sheet. Fortunately, my 
pigmy characters comprehend a great many words within a small 
space of paper. 


CHAPTER IV. 

DARSIE LATIMER’S JOURNAL, IN CONTINUATION. 

The morning was dawning, and Mr. Geddes and I myself were 
still sleeping soundly, when the alarm was given by my canine bed- 
fellow, who first growled deeply at intei vals, and at length bore more 
decided testimony to the approach of some enemy. I opened the 
door of the cottage, and perceived at the distance of about two hun 
drcd yards, a small but close column of men, which I would have 


REDGACXTLET. 143 

taken for a dark hedge, but that 1 could perceive it was advancing 
rapidly and in silence. 

The dog flew toward them, but instantly ran howling back to me, 
having probably been chastised by a stick or a stone. Uncertain as 
to the plan of tactics or of treaty which Mr. Geddes might think 
proper to adopt, 1 was about to retire into the cottage, when he sud- 
denly joined me at the door, aDd slipping his arm through mine, 
said, “ Let us go to meet them manfully, we have done nothing to 
be ashamed of. Friends,” he said, raising his voice as we approached 
them, “ who arc you and with what purpose are you here on my 
property?” 

A. loud cheer was the answer returned, and a brace of fiddlers 
who occupied the front of the march immediately struck up the in- 
sulting air, the words of which begin, 

“ Merrily danced the Quaker’s wife, 

And merrily danced the Quaker.” 

Even at that moment of alarm, 1 think 1 recognized the tones 
of the blind fiddler. Will, known by the name of Wandering Willie 
from his itinerant habits. They continued to advance swiftly 
and in great order, in their front, 

“ The fiery fiddlers playing martial airs;” 

when, coming close up, they surrounded us by a single movement, 
and there was a universal cry, “ Whoop, Quaker — whoop, Quaker! 
Here have we them both, the wet Quaker and the dry one.” 

“ Hang up the wet Quaker to dry, and wet the dry one with a 
ducking,” answered another voice. 

“ Where is the sea-otter, John Davies, that destroyed more fish 
than any sealch upon Ailsa Craig?” exclaimed a third voice. “ I 
have an old crow to pluck with him, and a pock to put the feathers 
in.” 

We stood perfectly passive; for, to have attempted resistance 
against more than a hundred men, armed with guns, fish-spears, 
iron crows, spades, and bludgeons, would have been an act of utter 
insanity. Mr. Geddes, with his strong sonorous voice, answered the 
-question about the superintendent in a manner, the manly in- 
difference of which compelled them to attend to him. 

John Davies,” he said, “ will, I trust, soon be at Dumfries—” 

“ To fetch down redcoats and dragoons against us, you canting 
old villain!” 

A blow was, at the same time, leveled at my friend, which 1 par- 
ried by interposing the stick I had in my hand. I was instantly 
struck down, and have a faint recollection of hearing some crying, 
“ Kill the young spy!” and others, as 1 thought, interposing on my 
behalf. But a second blow on the head, received in the scuffle, 
soon deprived me of sense and consciousness, and threw me into a 
state of insensibility, from which 1 did not recover immediately. 
When 1 did come to myself, I was lying on the bed from which 1 
had just risen before the fray, and my poor companion, the New- 
foundland puppy, its courage entirely cowed by the tumult of the 
riot, had crept as close to me as it could, and 'lay trembling and 
whining as if under the most dreadful terror. 1 doubted at first 


144 


REDGAUNTLET. 


whether I had not dreamed of the tumult, until, as 1 attempted to 
rise, a feeling of pain and dizziness assured me that the injury I 
had sustained was but too real. 1 gathered together my senses, 
listened— and heard at a distance the shouts of the rioters, busy, 
doubtless, in their work of devastation. 1 made a second effort 
to rise, or at least to turn myself, for 1 lay with my face to the wall 
of the cottage, but 1 found that my limbs were secured, and my 
motions effectually prevented— not indeed by cords, but by linen 
or cloth bandages swathed around my ankles, and securing my 
arms to my sides. Aware of my utterly captive condition, l 
groaned betwixt bodily pain and mental distress. 

A voice by my bedside whispered, in a whining tone, “ Whisht 
a-ye, hinnie— whisht a-ye; baud your tongue, like a guid bairn— ye 
have cost us dear aneugh already. My hinnie’s clean gane now.” 

Knowing, as 1 thought, the phraseology of the wife of the 
itinerant musician, 1 asked her where her husband was, and 
whether he had been hurt. 

“ Broken,” answered the dame, “ all broken to pieces; fit for 
naught but to be made spunks of — the best blood that was in Scot- 
land.” 

“ Broken?— blood?— is your husband wounded? has there been 
bloodshed — broken limbs?” 

“ Broken limbs! — I wish,” answered the beldam, “ that my hin- 
nie had broken the best bane in his body before he had broken his 
fiddle, that was the best blood in Scotland— it was a cremony, for 
aught that 1 ken.” 

“ Pshaw — only his fiddle?” said 1. 

“ 1 dinna ken what waur your honor could have wished him ta 
do, unless he had broken his neck; and this is m tickle the same to 
my hinnie Willie and me. Chaw, indeed! It is easy to say chaw, 
but wha is to gie us onything to chaw? —the bread-winner’s gane* 
and we may e’en sit down and starve.” 

‘‘No, no,” I said; “ 1 will pay you tor twenty such fiddles.” 

“ Twenty such! is that a’ ye ken about it? the country hadna the 
like o’t. But if your honor were to pay us, as nae doubt wad be 
to your credit here and hereafter, where are 3 r e to get the siller?” 

“1 Lave enough of money,” said I, attempting to reach my hand 
toward my side pocket; “unloose these bandages, and 1 will pay 
you on the spot.” 

This hint appeared lo move her, and she was approaching the 
bedside, as 1 hoped, to liberate me from my bonds, when a nearer 
and more desperate shout was heard, as if the rioters were close by 
the hut. 

“ 1 daurna — 1 daurna,” said the poor woman, “ they would mur- 
der me and my hinnie Willie baith, and they have misguided us 
aneugh already; — but if there is onything worldly I could do for 
your honor, leave out loosing ye?” 

What she said recalled me to my bodily suffering. Agitation 
and the effects of the usage 1 had received had produced a burning 
thirst. 1 asked for a drink of water. 

“ Heaven Almighty forbid that Epps Ainslie should gie ony sick 
gentleman cauld w ell -water, and him in a fever. Na, na, hinnie* 
let me alane, I’ll do better for ye thaD the like of that.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


. 145 


“ (live me what you will/’ 1 replied; “ let it but be liquid and 
cool.” 

The woman gave me a large horn accordingly, filled with spirits 
and water, which, without minute inquiry concerning the nature 
of its contents, 1 drained at a draught. Either the spirits taken in 
such a' manner acted more suddenly than usual on my brain, or 
else there was some drug mixed with the beverage. 1 memember 
little atter drinking it off, only that the appearance of things around 
me became indistinct; that the woman’s form seemed to multiply 
itself, and to flit in various figures around me, bearing the same 
lineaments as she herself did. I remember also that the discordant 
noises and cries of those without the cottage seemed to die away 
in a-hum like that with which a nurse hushes her babe. At length I 
fell into a deep sound sleep, or rather a state of absolute insensibility. 
1 have reason to think this species of trance lasted for many hours 
—indeed, for the whole subsequent day and part of the night. It 
was not uniformly so profound, for my recollection of it is checkered 
with many dreams, all of a painful nature, but too faint and too in- 
distinct to be remembered. At length the moment of waking came, 
and my sensations were horrible. 

A deep sound, which, in the contusion of my senses, L identified 
with the cries of the rioters, was the first thing of which 1 was 
sensible; next 1 became conscious that 1 was carried violently for- 
ward in some conveyance, with an unequal motion, which gave 
me much pain. My position was horizontal, and when I attempted 
to stretch my hands in order to find some mode of securing myself 
against this species of suffering, 1 found 1 was bound as before, 
and the horrible reality rushed on my mind that I was in the hands 
of those who had lately committed" a great outrage on property, 
and w r ere now about to kidnap, if not to murder me. 1 opened my 
eyes; it was to no purpose— all around me was dark, tor a day had 
passed over during my captivity. A dispiriting sickness oppressed 
my head— my heait seemed on fire, while my feet and hands were 
chilled and benumbed with want of circulation. It was with the 
utmost difficulty that 1 at length, and gradually, recovered in a 
sufficient degree the power of observing external sounds and cir- 
cumstances; and when 1 did so, they presented nothing consolatory. 

Groping with my hands, as far as the bandages would permit, 
and receiving the assistance of some occasional glance of the moon- 
light, I became aware that the carriage in which I was transported 
was one of the light carts of the country, called tumblers, and that 
a little attention had been paid to my accommodation, as 1 was laid 
upon some sacks covered with matting, and filled with straw. 
Without these, my condition would have been still more intolerable, 
for the vehicle, sinking now on one side and now on the other, 
sometimes sticking absolutely fast, and requiring the utmost ex- 
ertions of the animal which drew it to put it once more in motion, 
was subjected to jolts in all directions, which were very severe. 
At other times it rolled silently and smoothly over what seemed 
to be wet sand; as 1 heard the distant roar of the tide, 1 had little 
doubt that we w r ere engaged in passing the formidable estuary 
which divides the two kingdoms. 

There seemed to be at least five or six people about the cart, some 


146 


EEDGAUKTLET. 


on foot, o<liers on horseback; the former lent assistance wheuever 
it was in danger of upsetting, or sticking fast in the q-uieksand; 
the others rode before and acted as guides, often changing the di- 
rections of the vehicle as the precarious state of the passage required. 

1 addressed myself to the men around the cart, and endeavored 
lo move their compassion. 1 had harmed, 1 said, no one, and tor 
no action in my life had deserved such cruel treatment. I had no 
concern whatever in the fishing-station which had incurred their 
displeasure, and my acquaintance with Mr. Geddes was of a very 
late date. Lastly, and as my strongest argument, 1 endeavored to 
excite their fears, by informing them that my rank in life would 
not permit me to be either murdered or secreted with impuuity; and 
to interest their avarice, by the promises 1 made to them of re- 
ward, if they would effect my deliverance. 1 only received a scorn- 
ful laugh in reply to m} r threats; my promises might have done 
more, for the fellows were whispering together as if in hesitation, 
and I began to reiterate and increase my offers, when the voice of 
one of the horsemen, who had suddenly come up, enjoined silence 
to the men on foot, and, approaching the side of the cart, said to 
me, with a strong and determined voice, “Icoung man, there is 
no personal harm designed to you. If you remain silent and quiet, 
you may reckon on good treatment; but it you endeavor to tamper 
with these men in the execution of their duty, 1 will take such 
measures for silencing you as you shall remember the longest 
day you have to live.” 

1 thought 1 knew the voice which uttered these threats; but, in 
such a situation, my perceptions could not be supposed to be per- 
fectly accurate. 1 was contented to reply, “ YVfioever you are 
that speatr to me, 1 entreat the benefit of the meanest prisoner, who 
is not to be subjected legally to greater hardship than is necessary 
for the restraint of his person. I entreat that these bonds, which 
hurt me so cruelly, may be slackened at least, if not removed 
altogether.” 

“ l will slacken the belts,” said the former speaker; “ nay, I 
will altogether remove them, and allow you to pursue your jour- 
ney in a more convenient manner, provided you will give me your 
word of honor that you will not attempt an escape?” 

“ Never ! ” 1 answered, wfith an energy of which despair alone 
could have rendered me capable— “ 1 will never submit to loss of 
freedom a moment longer than I am subjected to it by force.” 

“Enough,” he replied; “the sentiment is natural; but do not 
on your side complain that 1, who am carrying on an important 
undertaking, use the only means in my power for insuring its suc- 
cess. ’ ’ 

1 entreated to know what it was designed to do with me; but my 
conductor, in a voice of menacing authority, desired me to be silent 
on my peril; and my strength and spirits were too much exhausted 
to permit my continuing a dialogue so singular, even if 1 could 
have promised myself any good result by doing so. 

It is proper here to add, that, from my recollections at the time, 
and from what lias taken place, I have the strongest possible belief 
that the man with whom 1 held this expostulation was the singular 
person residing at Brokeuburn, in Dumfriesshire, and called by the 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


147 

fishers of that hamlet the Laird of the Solway Lochs. The cause 
for his inveterate persecution 1 can not pretend even to guess at. 

In the meantime, the cart was dragged heavily and wearily on, 
until the nearer roar of the advancing tide excited the apprehension 
of another danger. 1 could not mistake the sound, which 1 had 
heard upon another occasion, when it was only the speed of a fleet 
horse which saved me from peiishing in the quicksands. Thou, 
my dear Alan, canst not but remember the former circumstances; 
and now, wonderful contrast! the very man, to the best of my be- 
lief, who then saved me from peril, was the leader of the lawless 
band who had deprived me of my liberty. 1 conjectured that the 
danger grew imminent; for 1 heard some words and circumstances 
which made me aware that a rider hastily fastened his own horse to 
the shafts of the cart, in order to assist the exhausted animal which 
drew it, and the vehicle was now pulled forward at a faster pace, 
which the horses were urged to maintain by blows and curses. The 
men, however, were inhabitants of the neighborhood; and I had 
strong personal reason to believe that one of them, at least, was in- 
timately acquainted with all the depths and shallows of the perilous 
paths in which we were engaged. But they were in imminent 
danger themselves; and if so, as from the whispering and exeitions 
to push on with the cart was much to be apprehended, there was 
little doubt that 1 should be left behind as a useless incumbrance, 
and that while 1 was in a condition which rendered every chance of 
escape impracticable. These were awful apprehensions; but it 
pleased Providence to increase them to a point which my brain was 
scarcely able to endure. As we approached very near to a black 
line, which, dimly visible as it was, 1 could make out to be the 
shore, we heard two or three sounds, which appeared to be the re- 
port of fire-arms. Immediately all was bustle among our party to 
get forward. Presently a fellow galloped up to us, crying out. 

Ware hawk! ware hawk! the land-sharks are out from Burgh, 
and Allouby Tom will lose his cargo if you do not bear a hand.” 

Most of my company seemed to make hastily for the shore on re- 
ceiving this intelligence. A driver was left with the cart; but at 
length, when, after repeated and hairbreadth escapes, it actually 
stuck fast in a slough or quicksand, the fellow, with an oath, cut 
the harness, and, as I presume, departed with the horses, whose- 
feet 1 heard splashing over the wet sand, and through the shallows, 
as he galloped off. 

The dropping sound of fire-arms was still continued, but lost 
almost entirely in the thunder of the advancing surge. By a des- 
perate effort 1 raised myself in the cart, and attained a sitting post- 
ure, which served only to show me the extent of my danger. There 
lay my native land— my own England— the land where 1 was born, 
and to which my wishes, since my earliest age, had turned with all 
the prejudices of national feeling— there it Jay, within a furlong of 
the place where 1 yet was; that furlong, which an infant would 
have raced over in a minute, was yet a barrier effectual to divide 
me forever from England and from life. 1 soon not only heard the 
roar of this dreadful torrent, but saw, by the fitful moonlight, the 
foamy crests of the devouring waves, as they advanced with the 
speed and fury of a pack of hungry wolves. 


148 


RE DG A OUTLET. 


The consciousness that the slightest ray of hope, or power of 
struggling, was not left me, quite overcame the constancy which 1 
had hitherto maintained. My eyes began to swim— my head grew 
giddy and mad with fear— I chattered and howled to the howling 
and roaring sea. One or two great waves alieady reached the cart, 
when the conductor of the party whom 1 have mentioned so often, 
was, as if by magic, at my side. He sprung from lus horse into the 
vehicle, cut the ligatures which restrained me, and bade me get up 
and mount in the fiend’s Dame. 

Seeing 1 was incapable of obeying, he seized me, as if 1 had been 
a child of six months old, threw me across the horse, sprung on be- 
hind, supporting me w ith one hand, while he directed the animal with 
the other. In my helpless and painful posture, 1 was unconscious 
of the degree of danger which we incurred; but I believe at one 
time the horse was swimming, or nearly so; and that it was with 
difficulty that my stern and powerful assistant kept my head above 
water. I remember particularly the shock which 1 felt when the 
animal, endeavoring to gain the bank, reared, and very nearly fell 
back on his burden. The time during which I continued in this 
dreadful condition did not probably exceed two or three miuutes, 
yet so strongly were they marked with horror and agony, that they 
seem to my recollection a much more considerable space of time. 

When 1 had been thus snatched from destruction, I had only 
power to say to my protector— or oppressor — for he merited either 
name at my band, “ You do not, then, design to murder me?” 

He laughed as he replied, but it was a sort of laughter which I 
scarce desire to hear again — “ Else you think 1 had let the wa^es 
do the work? But remember, the shepherd saves his sheep from 
the torrent — is it to preserve its life? Be silent, however, with ques- 
tions or entreaties. What 1 mean to do, thou canst no more dis- 
cover or prevent, than a man, with his bare palm, can scoop dry the 
Solway. ” 

1 was too much exhausted to continue the argument; and, still 
numbed and torpid in all my limbs, permitted myself without re- 
luctance to be placed on a horse brought for the purpose. My for- 
midable conductor rode on the one side, and another person on the 
other, keeping me upright in the saddle. In this manner we trav- 
eled forward at a considerable rate, and by by-roads, with which 
my attendant seemed as familiar as with the perilous passages of the 
Solway. 

At length, after stumbling through a labyrinth of dark and deep 
lanes, and crossing more than one rough and barren heath, we found 
ourselves on the edge of a high-road, where a chaise and four await- 
ed, as it appeared, our arrival. To ray great relief, we now changed 
our mode of conveyance; for my dizziness and headache had re- 
turned in so strong a degree, that 1 should otherwise have been 
totally unable to keep my seat on horseback, even with the support 
wdiich 1 received. 

My doubted and dangerous companion signed to me to enter the 
carriage — the man who had ridden on the lei t side of my horse 
stepped in after me, and drawing up the blinds of the vehicle, gave 
the signal for instant departure. 

I had obtained a glimpse of the countenance of my new compan- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


149 


ion, as by the aid of a dark-lantern the drivers opened the carriage 
door, and I was well-nigh persuaded that I recognized in him the 
domestic of the leader of this party, whom I had seen at his house 
in Brok&iburn on a former occasion. To ascertain the truth of my 
suspicion, 1 asked him whether his name was not C’ristal Nixon. 

“ What is other folk’s names to you,” he replied, gruffly, “ who 
can not tell your own father and mother?” 

“ You know them, perhaps!” 1 exclaimed eagerly. “ You know 
them! and with that secret is connected the treatment which 1 am 
now receiving? It must be so, lor in my life have 1 never injured 
any one. Tell me the cause of my misfortunes, or rather, help 
me to my liberty, and 1 will reward you richly.” 

** Ay, ay,” replied my keeper; “ but what use to give you lib- 
erty, who know nothing how to use it like a gentleman, but spend 
your time with Quakers and fiddlers, and such like raff! If 1 was 
your — hem, hem, hem!” 

Here Cristal stopped short, just on the point, as it appeared, when 
some information was likely to escape him. 1 urged him once more 
to be my friend, and promised him all the stock of money which 1 
had about me, and it was not inconsiderable, if he would assist in 
my escape. 

He listened as if to a proposition which had some interest, and 
replied, but in a voice rather softer than before, “ Ay, but men do 
not catch old birds with chaff, my master. Where have you got 
the rhino you are so flush of?” 

“ 1 will give you earnest directly, and that in bank-notes,” said 1; 
but thrusting my hand into my side pocket, 1 found my pocket-book 
was gone. 1 would have persuaded myself that it was only the 
numbness of my hands which prevented my finding it; but Cristal 
Nixon, who bears in his countenance that cynicism which is espe- 
cially entertained with human misery, no longer suppressed liis 
laughter. ^ . 

“Oh, ho! my young master,” he said: ‘‘we have taken good 
enough care you have not kept the means of bribing poor folk’s 
fidelity. What, man! they have souls as well as other people, and 
to make them break trust is a deadly sin. And as for me, young 
gentleman, if you would fill Saint Mary’s Kirk with gold, Cristal 
Nixon would mind it no more than so many chucky-stoues.” 

1 would have persisted, were it but in hopes of his letting drop 
that which it concerned me to know, but he cut off further com- 
munication, by desiring me to lean back in the corner and go to 
sleep. 

“Thou art cock-brained enough already.” he added, “and we 
shall have thy young pate addled entirely, if you 'do not take some 
natural rest.” 

I did indeed require repose, if not slumber; the draught which 1 
had taken continued to operate, and satisfied in my own mind that 
no atlempt on. my life was designed, the fear of instant death no 
longer combated the torpor which crept over me— 1 slept, and slept 
soundly, but still without refreshment. 

When 1 awoke, 1 found myself extremely indisposed; images of 
the past, and anticipations of the future, floated confusedly through 
my brain. 1 perceived, however, that my situation was changed, 


150 


REDGAUNTLET. 


greatly for the better. 1 was in a good bed. with the cui tains drawn 
round it; I heard the lowered voice and cautious step of attendants, 
who seemed to respect my repose; it appeared as if I was in the 
hands either of friends, or of such as meant me no personal harm. 

1 can give but an indistinct account ot two or thiee broken- and 
feverish days which succeeded; but if they were checkered with 
dreams and' visions of terror, other and more agreeable objects were 
also sometimes presented. Alan Fairford will understand me when 
1 say, 1 am convinced 1 saw G. M. during this interval of oblivion. 
1 had medical attendance, and was bled more than once. 1 also re- 
member a painful operation perlormed on my head, where 1 had 
received a severe blow on the night of the riot. My hair was cut 
short, and the bone of the skull examined, to discover if the cranium 
had received any injury. 

On seeing the physician, it would have been natural to have ap- 
pealed to him on the subject of my confinement, and 1 remember 
more than once attempting to do so. But the fever lay r like a spell 
upon my tongue, and when 1 would have implored the doctor’s as- 
sistance, i rambled from the subject, and spoke 1 know not what 
nonsense. Some power, which 1 was unable to resist, seemed to 
impel me into a different course of conversation from what 1 intend- 
ed, and though conscious in some degree of the failure, 1 could not 
mend it; and resolved, therefore, to be patient until my capacity of 
steady thought and expression was restored to me with my ordinary 
health, which had sustained a severe shock from the vicissitudes to 
which 1 have been exposed.* 


CHAPTER Y. 

DARSIE LATIMER’S JOURNAL, IN CONTINUATION. 

Two or three days, perhaps more, perhaps less, had been spent in 
bed, where 1 was carefully attended, and treated, 1 believe, with as 
much judgment as the case required, and 1 was at length allowed 
to quit my bed, though not the chamber. 1 was now more able to 
make some ocservation on the place of my confinement. 

* It may be here mentioned, that a violent and popular attack upon what the 
country people of this district considered as an invasion of their fishing-right, 
is by no means an improbable fiction. Shortly after the close of the American 
war, Sir James Graham, of Nether by, constructed a dam-dike, or cauld, across 
the Esk, at a place where it flowed through his estate, though it has its origin, 
and the principal part of its course, in Scotland. The new barrier at Netherby 
was considered as an encroachment calculated to prevent the salmon from 
ascending into Scotland; and the right of erecting it being an international 
question of law betwixt the sister kingdoms, there was no court in either com 

E etent to its decision. In this dilemma, the Scots people assembled in nura- 
ers, by signal of rocket lights, and, rudely armed with fowling-pieces, fish- 
spears, and such rustic weapons, marched to the banks of the river for the 
purpose of pulling down the dam-dike objected to. Sir James Graham armed 
many of his own people to protect his property, and had some military from 
Carlisle for the same purpose. A renewal of the Border wars had nearly taken 
place in the eighteenth century, when prudence and moderation on both sides 
saved much tumult, and perhaps some bloodshed. The English proprietor con- 
sented that a breach should be made in his dam-dike sufficient for the passage 
of the fish, and thus removed the Scottish grievance. I believe the river has, 
since that time, taken the matter into its own disposal, and entirely swept away 
the dam-dike in question. 


REDG AUJSTTLET. 


151 

The room, in appearance, and furniture, resembled the best 
apartment in a farmer’s house; and the window, two stories high, 
looked into a back yard, or court, filled with domestic poultry. 
There were the usual domestic offices about this yard. 1 could dis- 
tinguish the brew-house and the barn, and 1 heard from a more re- 
mote building the lowing of the cattle, and other rural sounds an- 
nouncing a large and well-stocked farm. These were sights and 
sounds qualified to dispel any apprehension of immediate violence. 
Yet the building seemed ancient and strong, a pait of the roof was 
battlemented, and the walls were of great thickness; lastly, 1 ob- 
served with some unpleasant sensations, that the windows of my 
■chamber had been lately secured with iron stanchions, and that the 
servants who brought me victuals, or visited my apartment to ren- 
der other menial offices, always locked the door when they retired. 

The comfort and cleanliness of my chamber were of true English 
growth, and such as I had rarely seen on the other side of the 
Tweed: the very old wainscot, which composed the floor aud the 
paneling of the room, was scrubbed with a degree of labor which the 
Scottish housewife rarely bestows on her most costly furniture. 

The whole apartment appropriated to my use consisted of the bed- 
room, a small parlor adjacent, within which was a still smaller 
closet, having a narrow window, which seemed anciently to have 
been used as a shot- hole, admitting, indeed, a very moderate portion 
of light and air, but without its being possible to see anything from 
it except the blue sky, and that only by mounting on a chair. There 
were appearances of a separate entrance into this cabinet, besides 
that which communicated with the parlor, but it had been recently 
built up, as 1 discovered by removing a piece of tapestry which cov- 
ered the fresh mason- work. 1 found some of my clothes here, with 
linen and other articles, as well as my writing-case, containing pen, 
ink, and paper, which enables me, at my leisure (w T hich, God 
knows, is undisturbed enough), to make this record of my confine- 
ment. It may be well believed, however, that I do not trust to the 
security of the bureau, but carry the written sheets about my per- 
son, so that I can only be deprived of them by actual violence. I 
also am cautious to write in the little cabinet only, so that 1 can 
hear any person approach me through the other apartments, and 
have time enough to put aside my journal before they come upon 
me. 

The servants, a stout country fellow, and a very pretty milkmaid- 
looking lass, by whom I am attended, seem of the true Joan and 
Hodge school, thinking of little, and desiring nothing, beyond the 
very limited sphere of their own duties or enjoyments, and having 
no curiosity whatever about the affairs of others. Their behavior 
to me in particular, is, at the same time, very kind and very 
provoking. My table is abundantly supplied, and they seem 
anxious to comply with my taste in that department. But when- 
ever 1 make inquiries beyond “ what’s for dinner?” the brute 
•of a lad baffles me by his anan, and his dunna knaw, and, it hard 
pressed, turns his back on me composedly, and leaves the room. 
The girl, too, pretends to be as simple as he; but an arch grin, 
which she can not always suppress, seems to acknowledge that she 
understands perfectly well the game which she is playing, and is 


152 


REDGAUNTLET. 


determined to keep me in ignorance. Both of them, and the wencli 
in particular, treat me as the 3 r would do a spoiled child, and never 
directly refuse me anything which I ask, taking caie, at the same 
time, not to make their words good by effectually granting my re- 
quest. Thus, if I desire to go out, I am promised by Dorcas that 1 
shall walk in the park at night, and see the cows milked, just as she 
would propose such an amusement to a child. But she takes care 
never to keep her word, it it is in her power to do so. 

In the meantime, there has stolen on me insensibly an indifference 
to my freedom— a carelessness about my situation, for which I am 
unable to account, unless it be the consequence of weakness and 
loss of blood. 1 have read of men who, immured as 1 am, have 
surprised the world by the address with which they have success- 
fully overcome the most formidable obstacles to their escape ; and 
when L have heard such anecdotes 1 have said to myself tnat no one 
who is possessed only of a fragment of freestone, or a rusty nail, to 
grind down rivets and to pick locks, having his full leisure to em- 
ploy in the task, need continue the inhabitant of a prison. Here, 
however, 1 sit, day after day, without a single effort to effect my 
liberation. 

Yet my inactivity is not the result of despondency, but arises, in 
part at least, from feelings of a very different cast. My story, long 
a mysterious one, seems now upon the verge of some strange devel- 
opment; and 1 feel a solemn impression that 1 ought to wait the 
course of events, to struggle against which is opposing my feeble 
efforts to the high will of fate. Thou, my Alan, wilt treat as timid- 
ity this passive acquiescence, which lias sunk down on me like a 
benumbing torpor; but if thou hast remembered by what visions 
my couch was haunted, and dost but think of the probability that 1 
am in the vicinity, perhaps under the same roof with G. M., thou 
wilt acknowledge that other feelings than pusillanimity have tended 
in some degree to reconcile me to my fate. 

Still 1 own it is unmanly to submit with patience to this oppres- 
sive confinement. My heart rises against it, especially when 1 sit 
down to record my sufferings in this Journal; and I am determined, 
as the first step to my deliverance, to have my letteis sent to the 
post-house. 

1 am disappointed. When the girl Dorcas, upon whom 1 had 
fixed for a messenger, heard me talk of sending a iettei, she will- 
ingly offered her services, and received the crown which I gave her 
(for my purse had not taken flight with the more valuable contents of 
my pocket-book), with a smile which showed her whole set of white 
teeth. 

But when, with the purpose of gaining some intelligence respect- 
ing my present place of abode, 1 asked to which post-town she was 
to send or carry the letter, a stoli 3 “ A?ian/’ showed me she was 
either ignorant of the nature of a post-office, or that, for the pres- 
ent, she chose to seem so. “ Simpleton!” I said, with some sharp- 
ness. 

“ O Lord, sir!” answered the girl, turning pale, which they al- 
ways do when I show any sparks of anger. “ Don't put yourself 
in a passion— I’ll put the letter in the post.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 153 

“ What! and not know Ihe name of the post-town?” said I, out 
of patience. “ How on earth do you propose to manage that?” 

“ La, you there, good master. What need you frighten a poor 
girl that is no schollard, bating what she learned at the Charity 
School of Saint Bees?” 

“ Is Saint Bees far from this place, Dorcas? Do you send our 
letters there?” said 1, in a manner as insinuating, and yet careless, 
as 1 could assume. 

^-Saint Bees! La, who but a madman— begging your hcnor’s 
pardon— it’s a matter of twenty years since fader lived at Saint 
Bees, which is twenty, or forty, or 1 dunna know not how many 
miles from this part, to the West, on the coast side; and I would 
noi. have left Saint Bees, but that fader — ” 

“ Oh, the devil take your father!” replied 1. 

To which she answered, “Nay, but thot your honor be a little 
how-come-so, you shouldn’t damn folk’s faders; and 1 won’t stand 
to it, for one.” 

“ Oh, J beg you a thousand pardons — 1 wish your father no ill in 
the world — he was a very honest man in his way.” 

“ Was an honest man!” she exclaimed; for the Cumbrians are, 
it would seem, like their neighbors the Scotch, ticklish on the point 
of ancestry. “ He is a very honest man as ever led nag with halter 
on head to Staneshaw-Bank Fair. Honest! He is a horse-couper.” 

“ Right, right,” 1 replied; “ I know it — I have heard of your fa- 
ther— as honest as any horse-couper of them all. Why, Doicas, I 
mean to buy a horse of him!” 

“ Ah, your honor,” sighed Dorcas, “ he is the man to serve your 
honor well — if ever you should get round again — or tliof you were a 
a bit off the hooks, he would no more cheat you than — 

“ Well, well, we will deal, my girl, you may depend on’t. But 
tell me now, were I to give you a letter, what, would you do to get 
it forward?” 

“ Why, put it into squire’s own bag that hangs in hall,” an- 
swered poor Dorcas. “ What else could 1 do? He sends it to 
Brampton, or to Carloisle, where it pleased him, once a week, and 
that gate.” 

“ All!” said I, “ and 1 suppose your sweetheart John carries it!” 

“ Noa— disn’t now— and Jan is no sweetheart of mine, ever since 
he danced at his mother’s feast with Kitty Rutlege, and let me sit 
still; that a did.” 

“ It was most abominable in Jan, and what I could never have 
thought of him,” I replied. 

“ Oh, but a did, though — a let me sit still on my seat, a did.” 

“ Well, well, my pretty May, you will get a handsomer fellow 
than Jan — Jan’s not the fellow for you, I see that.” 

“ Noa, noa,” answered the damsel; “ but he is weel aneugh for 
a’ that, mon. But I carena a button for him; for there is the mil- 
ler’s son, that suitored me last Appleby Fair, when 1 went wi’ on- 
cle, is a gway canny lad as you will see in the sunshine.” 

“ Ay, a fine stout fellow. Do you think he would cairy my let- 
ter to Carlisle?” 

“ To Carloisle! ’Twould be all his life is worth; he maun wait 
on clap and hopper, as they say. Odd, his father would brain him 


154 


REDGAUNTLET. 


if he went to Carloisle, bating to wrestling for the belt, or sic loike. 
But I lia' more bachelors than him; there is the school-master, can 
write almaist as weel as tou canst, mon.” # 

“ Then he is the very man to take charge of a letter; he knows 
the trouble of writing one.” 

“ Ay, marry does he, an tou comest to that, mon; only it takes 
him foui hours to write as mony lines. Tan, it is a great round 
nand loike, that one can read easily, and not loike your honor’s, that 
are like midge’s taes. But for ganging to Carloisle, he’s dead 
foundered, man, as cripple as Eckie’s mear.” 

“ In the name of God,” said 1, “ how is it that you propose to 
get my letter to the post?” 

‘‘ Why, just to put it into squire’s bag, loike,” reiterated Dor- 
cas; ‘‘ he sends it by Ciistal Nixon to post, as you call it, when 
such is his pleasure.” 

Here I was, then, not much edified by having obtained a list of 
Dorcas’s bachelors; and by finding myself with respect to any in- 
formation which I desired, just exactly at the point where I set out. 
It was of consequence to me, however, to accustom the girl to con- 
verse with me familiarly. If she did so, she could nol always be on 
her guard, and something, I thought, might drop from her, which 
1 could turn to advantage. 

“ Does not the squire usually look into his letter-bag, Dorcas?” 
said 1, with as much indifference as 1 could assume. 

‘‘ That a does,” said Dorcas, ‘‘ and a threw out a letter of mine to 
Raff Miller, because a said — ” 

“ Well, well, 1 won’t trouble him with mine,” said 1, “ Dorcas; 
but instead, I will write to himself, Dorcas. But how shall I ad- 
dress him?” 

*‘ Anan?” was again Dorcas’s resource. 

” 1 mean how is lie called? What is liis name?” 

“ Bure your honor should know best,” said Dorcas. 

“ I know? The devil! You drive me beynnd patience.” 

“Noa, noa! donna your honor go beyond patience — donna ye 
now,” implored the wench. “ And for this nearne, they say liehas 
mair nor ane in Westmoreland and on the Scottish side. But he is 
but seldom wi’ us, excepting in the cocking season; and then we 
just call him squire loike; and so do my measter and dame.” 

” And is he here at present?” said I. 

“ Not he, not he; he is a buck-hoonting, as they tell me, some- 
where up the Patterdale way; but he comes and gangs like a flap 
of a whirlwind, or sic loike.” 

1 broke off the conversation after forcing on Dorcas a little silver 
to buy ribbons, with which she was so much delighted, that she 
exclaimed, ‘‘God! Cristal Nixon may say his worst on thee; but 
thou art a civil gentleman for all him; and a quoit man wi’ women 
folk loike.” 

There is no sense in being too quiet with woman folk; so 1 added 
a kiss with my crownpiece; and 1 can not help thinking that 1 have 
secured a partisan in Dorcas. At least, she blushed, and pocketed 
her little compliment with one hand, while, with the other, she ad- 
justed her cherry-colored ribbons, a little disordered by the struggle 
it cost me to attain the honor of a salute. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


As sbe unlocked the door to leave the apartment she . 
and looking on me with a strong expression of compass, 
the remarkable words, “ La— be’st mad or no, thou’se a 
lad, after all.” 

There was something very ominous in the sound of these fart 
words, which seemed to afford me a clew to the pretext uuu 
which 1 was detained in confinement. My demeanor was probably 
insane enough, while 1 was agitated at once by the trenzy incident 
to the fever, and the anxiety arising from my extraordinary situation. 
But is it possible they can now establish any cause for confining me, 
arising out of the state of my mind? 

If this be really the pretext under wliich 1 am restrained from 
my liberty, nothing but the sedate correctness of my conduct can 
remove the prejudices which these circumstances may have excited 
in the minds of all who have approached me during my illness. 1 
have heard — dreadful thought!— of men who, for various reasons, 
have been trepanned into the custody of the keepers of private mad- 
houses, and whose brain, after years of misery, became at length 
unsettled, through irresistible sympathy with the wretched beings 
among whom they were classed. This shall not be my case, if, by- 
strong internal resolution, it is in human nature to avoid the action 
of exterior and contagious sympathies. 

Meantime 1 sat down to compose and arrange my thoughts, for 
my purposed appeal to my jailer — so I must call him — whom 1 ad- 
dressed in the following manner; having at length, and after making 
several copies, found language to qualify the sense of resentment 
which burned in the first draughts of my letter, and endeavored to 
assume a tone more conciliating. I mentioned the two occasions on 
which he had certainly saved my life, when at the utmost peril; and 1 
added that whatever was the purpose of the restraint now practiced 
on me, as I was given to understand, by his authority, it could not 
certainly be with any view to ultimately injuring me. He might, 1 
said, have mistaken me for some other person; and 1 gave him 
what account 1 could of my situation and education, to correct 
such an error. 1 supposed it next possible that he might think me 
too weak for traveling, and not capable of taking care of myself; 
and 1 begged to assure him that 1 was restored to perfect health, 
and quite able to endure the fatigue of a journey. Lastly, 1 re- 
minded him, in firm though measured terms, that the restraint 
which I sustained was an illegal one, and highly punishable by the 
laws which protect the liberties of the subject. I ended by de- 
manding that he would take me before a magistrate; or, at least, 
that he would favor me with a personal interview, and explain his 
meaning with regard to me. 

Perhaps this letter was expressed in a tone too humble for the 
situation of an injured man, and 1 am inclined to think so when 1 
again recapitulate its tenor. But what could 1 do? 1 was in the 
power of one whose passions seem as violent as his means of grati- 
fying them appear unbounded. 1 had reason, too, to beiieve 
(this to thee, Alan) that all his family did not approve of the vio- 
lence of his conduct toward ire; my object, in fine, was freedom, 
ami who would not sacrifice much to attain it? 

I had no means of addressing my letter excepting, “ For the 


REDGAUNTLET. 


^d.” He could be at no great distance, for in the 
,y-four hours 1 received an answer. It was addressed 
/imer, and contained these words: — “You have de- 
interview with me. You have required to be carried 
.iagistrate. Your first wish shall be granted — perhaps the 
jso. Meanwhile, be assured that you are a prisoner for the 
jy competent authority, and that such authority is supported 
dequate power. Beware, therefore, of struggling with a force 
uicient to crush you, but abandon yourself to that train of events 
jy which we are both swept along, and which it is impossible that 
either of us can resist.” 

These mysterious words were without signature of any kind, and 
left me nothing more important to do than to prepare myself for 
the meeting which they promised. For that purpose I must now 
break off, and make sure of the manuscript— so far as I can, in my 
present condition, be sure of anything — by concealing it within the 
lining of my coat, so as not to be found without strict search. 


CHAPTER Yl. 

Latimer’s journal, in continuation. 

The important interview expected at the conclusion of my last 
took place sooner than 1 had calculated; for the very day 1 received 
the letter, and just when my dinner was finished, the squire, or 
whatever he is called, entered the room so suddenly, that 1 almost 
thought 1 beheld an apparition. The figure of this man is peculiarly 
noble and stately, and his voice has that deep fullness of accent 
which implies unresisted authority. 1 had risen involuntarily as he 
entered; we gazed on each other for a moment in silence, which 
was at length broken by my visitor. 

“ You have desired to see me,” he said. “1 am here; if you 
have aught to say let me hear it; my time is too brief to be con- 
sumed in childish dumb-sbow.” 

“ 1 would ask of you,” said 1, “ by what authority 1 am detained 
in this place of confinement, and for what purpose?” 

“ 1 have told you already,” said he, “ that my authority is suffi- 
cient, and my power equal to it; this is all which it is necessary for 
you at present to know.” 

“ Every Britisn subject has a right to know why he suffers re- 
straint,” 1 replied; “nor can he be deprived of liberty without a 
legal warrant. Show me that by which you confine me thus.” 

“You shall see more,” he said; “ you shall see the magistrate by 
whom it is granted, and that without a moment’s delay. ” 

This sudden proposal fluttered and alarmed me; 1 felt, neverthe- 
less, that I had the right cause, and resolved to plead it boldly, and 
although 1 could well have desired a little further time for prepara- 
tion. He turned, liow T ever, threw open the door of the apartment, 
and commanded me to follow him. i felt some inclination, when 
I crossed the threshold of my prison-chamber, to have turned and 
run for it; but 1 knew not where to find the stairs— had reason to 
think the outer doors would be secured— and, to conclude, so soon 


REDGAUNTLET. 


157 

as 1 baa quitted the room to follow the proud step of my conductor, 
1 observed that 1 was dogged by Cristal Nixon, who suddenly 
appeared within two paces of me., and with whose great personal 
strength, independent of the asssistance he might have received 
from his master, I saw no chance of contending. I therefore fol- 
lowed, unresistingly, and in silence, along one or two passages of 
much greater length than consisted with the ideas I had previously 
entertained of the size of the house. At length a door was flung 
open, and we entered a large old-fashioned parlor, having colored 
glass in the windows, oaken paneling on the wall, a huge grate, in 
which a large fagot or two smoked under an arched chimney-piece 
of stone, which bore some armorial device, while the walls were 
adorned with the usual number of heroes in armor, with large wigs 
instead of helmets, and ladies in sacques, smelling to nosegays. 

Behind a long table, on which were several books, sat a smart 
underbred-looking man, wearing his own hair tied in a club, and 
who, from the quire of paper laid before him, and the pen which 
he handled at my entrance, seemed prepared to officiate as clerk. 
As 1 wish to describe these persons as accurately as possibly, 1 may 
add, he wore a dark-colored coat, corduroy breeches, and spatter- 
dashes. At the upper end of the same table, in an ample easy-chair, 
covered with black leather, reposed a fat personage, about fifty 
years old, who either was actually a country justice, or was well 
selected to represent such a character. Hi3 leathern breeches were 
faultless in make, his jockey boots spotless in the varnish, and a 
handsome and flourishing pair of boot-garters, as they are called, 
united the one part of his garments to the other; in fine, a richly 
laced scarlet waistcoat, and a purple coat, set off the neat though 
corpulent figure of the little man, and threw an additional bloom 
upon his plethoric aspect. I suppose he had dined, for it was two 
hours past noon, and he was amusing himself, and aiding digestion, 
with a pipe of tobacco. There was an air of importance in his 
manner which corresponded to the rural dignity of his exterior, and 
a habit which he had of throwing out a number of interjectional 
sounds, uttered with a strange variety of intonation, running from 
bass up to treble in a very extraordinary manner, or breaking off 
his sentences with a whiff of his pipe, seemed adopted to give an air 
of thought and mature deliberation to his opinions and decisions. 
Notwithstanding all this, Alan, it might be dooted , as our old Pro- 
fessor used to say, whether the Justice was anything more than an 
ass. Certainly, besides a great deference for the legal opinion of 
his clerk, which might be quite according to the order of things, he 
seemed to be wonderfully under the command of his brother squire, 
if squire either of them were, and indeed much more than was con- 
sistent with so much assumed consequence of his own. 

“ Ho — ha — ay — so — so — hum — humph — this is the young man, 1 
suppose — hum — ay— seems sickly. Young gentleman, you may sit 
down.” 

1 used the permission given, for 1 had been much more reduced 
by my illness than 1 was aware of, and felt myself really fatigued, 
even by the few paces 1 had walked, joined to the agitation 1 
suffered. 

“ And your name, young man, is humph— ay— ha— what is it?” 


158 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


“ Darsie Latimer.” 

“ Right— ay— humph— very right. Darsie Latimer is the very 
thing — ha — ay — where do you come from?” 

“ From Scotland, sir,” 1 replied. 

“ A native of Scotland— a — humph — eh — how is it?” 

“ 1 am an Englishman by birth, sir.” 

“ Right — ay — yes, you are so. But pray, Mr. Darsie Latimer, 
have you always been called by that name, or have you any other? 
Nick, write down his answers, Nick.” 

As far as I remember, 1 never bore any other,” wa3 my answer. 

“ How, no?— well, I should not have thought so. Hey, neighbor, 
would you?” 

Here he looked toward the other squire, who had thrown himself 
into a chair, and, with his legs stretched out before him. and his 
arms folded on his bosom, seemed carelessly attending to what was 
going forward. He answered the appeal of the Justice by saying 
that perhaps the young man's memory did not go back to a very 
early period.” 

“ Ah -eh— ha— you hear the gentleman. Pray, how far may 
your memory be pleased to run back to — umph?” 

4 ‘ Perhaps, sir, to the age of three years, or a little further.” 

‘‘And will you presume to say, sir,” said the squire, drawing 
himself suddenly erect in his seat, and exerting the strength of his 
powerful voice, “ that you then bore your present name?” 

1 was startled at the confidence with which this question was put, 
and in vain rummaged my memory for the means of replying. 
“ At least,” 1 said, ‘‘ I always remember being called Darsie; chil- 
dren, at that early age, seldom get more than their Christian name.” 

“Oh, I thought so,” he replied, and again stretched himself on 
his seat, in the same lounging posture as before. 

“ So you were called Darsie in your infancy,” said the justice; 
“ and — hum— ay —when did you first take the name of Latimer?” 

“ 1 did not take it, sir; it was given to me.” 

“ I ask you,” said the lord of the mansion, but with less severity 
in his voice than formerly, “whether you cau remember that you 
were ever called Latimer, until you heard that name given you in 
Scotland ?” 

“ 1 will be candid; 1 can not recollect an instance that 1 was so 
called when in England, but neither can 1 recollect when the 
name was first given me; and if anything is to be founded on 
these queries and my answers, 1 desire my early childhood may be 
taken into consideration.” 

“ Hum— ay— yes,” said the justice; “ all that requires considera 
tion shall be duly considered. Young man— eh— 1 beg to know 
the name of your father and mother?” 

This was galling a w'ound that had festered for years, and I did 
not endure the question so patiently as those which preceded it; but 
replied, “ 1 demand, in my turn, to know if 1 am before an English 
justice of the peace?” 

“ His worship. Squire Foxley, of Foxley Hall, has been of the 
quorum these twenty years,” said Master Nicholas. 

“ Th n he ought to know, or you, sir, as his clerk, should inform 
him,” said 1, “ that I am the complainer in this case, and that my 


REDGAUNTLET. 


159 


complaint ought to be heard before 1 am subjected to cross-exam- 
ination.” 

“ Humph— hoy— what, ay, there is something in that, neighbor,” 
said the poor justice, who, blown about by every wind of doctrine, 
seemed desirous to attain the sanction of his brother squire. 

“ 1 wonder at you, Foxley,” said his firm-minded acquaintance; 
“ how can you render the young man justice unless you know who 
he is?” 

“Ha — yes — egad that’s true,” said Mr. Justice Foxley; “and 
now— looking into the matter more closely— there is, eh, upon the 
whole — nothing at all in what he says— so, sir, you must tell your 
father’s name and surname.” 

“ It is out of my power, sir; they are not known to me, since you 
must needs know so much of my private affairs.” 

The justice collected a great afflatus in his cheeks, which puffed 
them up like those of a Dutch cherub, while his eyes seemed flying 
out of his head, from the effort with which he retained his breath. 
He then blew it forth with— “Whew! Hoorn— pooff— ha!— not 
know your parents, youngster? Then 1 must commit you for a 
vagrant, 1 warrant you. Omne ignotum pro terribili, as we used 
to say at Appleby school; that is, every one that is not known to 
the justice, is a rogue and a vagabond. Ha! — ay, you may sneer, 
sir; but 1 question if you would have known the meaning" of that 
Latin, unless 1 had told you.” 

1 acknowledged myself obliged for a new edition of the adage, 
and an interpretation which I could never have reached alone and 
unassisted, 1 then proceeded to state my case with greater confi- 
dence. The justice was an ass, that was clear; but it was scarcely 
possible he could be so utterly ignorant as not to know what was 
necessary in so plain a case as mine. I therefore informed him of 
the not which had been committed on the Scottish side of the Sol- 
way Firth, explained how 1 came to be placed in my present situa- 
tion, and requested of his worship to set me at liberty. 1 pleaded 
my cause with as much earnestness as I could, casting an eye from 
time to time upon the opposite party, who seemed entirely indiffer 
ent to all the animation with which I accused him. 

As tor the justice, when at length I had ceased, as really not 
knowing what more to say in a case so very plain, he replied, “ Ho 
— ay — ay— yes— wonderful! and so this is all the gratitude you show 
to this good gentleman for the great charge and trouble he hath had 
with respect to and concerning of you?” 

“ He saved my life, sir, 1 acknowledge, on one occasion certainly, 
and most probably on two; but his having done so gives him no 
right over my person, i am not, however, asking for any punish- 
ment or revenge; on the contrary, I am content to part friends with 
the gentleman, whose motives 1 am unwilling to suppose are bnd, 
though his actions have been, toward me, unauthorized and vio- 
lent ” 

This moderation, Alan, thou wilt comprehend, was not entirely 
dictated by my feelings toward the individual of whom 1 com- 
plained; there were other reasons, in which regard for him had lit- 
tle share. It seemed, however, as if the mildness with which 1 
pleaded my cause had more effect upon him than anything 1 had 


1G0 


IiEDGAUNTLET. 


yet said, lie was moved to the point of being almost out of counte- 
nance; and took snuff repeatedly, as if to gain time to stifle some 
degree of'eonotion. 

But on Justice Foxley, on whom my eloquence was particularly 
designed to make impression, the result was much less favorable. 
He consulted in a whisper with Mr. Nicholas liis clerk — pshawed, 
hemmed, and elevated his eyebrows, as if in scorn of my supplica 
fion. At length, having apparently made up his mind, he leaned 
back in his chair, and smoked his pipe with great energy, with a 
look of defiance, designed to make me aware that all my reasoning 
was lost on him. 

At length, when I stopped, more from lack of breath than want 
of argument, he opened his oracular jaws, and made the following 
reply, interrupted by his usual interjectional ejaculations, and by 
long volumes of smoke: “ Ilem— ay— eh — pooh! And, youngster, 
do you think Matthew Foxley, who has been one of the quorum 
for these twenty years, is to be come over witli such trash as would 
hardly cheat an applewoman. Poof — poof — eh! Why, man — 
eh— dost thou not know the charge is not a bailable matter— and 
that— hum — ay — the greatest man — poof— the Baron of Graystock 
himself, must stand committed? and yet you pretend to have been 
kidnapped b} r this gentleman, and robbed of property, and what 
not: and— eh — poof — you would persuade me all you want is to get 
away from him? 1 do believe — eh— that it is all you want. There- 
fore’ as you are a sort of a slip-string gentleman, and— ay — hum— -a 
kind of idle apprentice, and something cock-brained withal, as the 
honest folks of the house tell me — why, you must e’en remain under 
custody of your guardiau, till your coming of age, or my Lord 
Chancelior’s warrant shall give you the management of your own 
affairs, which, if you can gather your brains again, you will even 
then not be— ay— hem — poof — in particular haste to assume.” 

The time occupied by his worship’s hums, and haws, and puffs 
of tobacco smoke, together with the slow and pompous manner in 
which he spoke, gave me a minute’s space to collect my ideas, dis 
persed as they were by the extraordinary purport of this annunci- 
ation. 

‘‘I can not conceive, sir,” 1 replied, “by what singular tenure 
this person claims my obedience as a guardian; it is a barefaced im- 
posture— 1 never in my life saw him until 1 came unhappily to this 
country, about tour weeks since.” 

“ Ay, sir — we — lie — know, and are aware — that — poof— you do 
not like to hear some folk’s names; and that — eh— you understand 
me there are things, and sounds, and matters, conversation about 
names, and such like, which put you off the hooks — which 1 have 
no humor to witness. Nevertheless, Mr. Parsie— or— poof — Mr. 
Parsie Latimer— or— poof, poof — eh— ay, Mr. Parsie without the 
Latimer— you have acknowledged as much to day as assures me 
you will bo best disposed to be under the honorable care of mv * 
friend here— all your confessions— besides that— poof— eh— 1 know 
him to be a most responsible person— a— hay — ay— most responsible 
and honorable person. Can you deny this?” 

“ 1 know nothing of him,” I repeated; “ not even his name; anil 


REDGAUNTLET. 161 

I have not, as 1 told you, seen liimself in the course of my whole 
life, till a few weeks since.” 

“ Will you swear to that?” said the singular man, who seemed 
to await the result of this debate, secure as a rattlesnake Is of the 
prey which has once felt its fascination. And 'while he said these 
words in deep undertone, he withdrew his chair a little behind that 
of the justice, so as to be unseen by him or his clerk, who sat upon 
the same side; while he Dent on me a frown so portentous, that no 
oqe who has witnessed the look can forget it during the whole of 
his life. The lurrows of the brow above the eyes became livid and 
almost black, and were bent into a semi-circular, or rather elliptical 
form above the junction of the eyebrows. I had heard such a look 
described in an old tale of diablerie, which it was my chance to be 
entertained with not long since; when this deep and gloomy contor- 
tion of the frontal muscles was not inaptly described as forming the 
representation of a small horseshoe. 

The tale, when told, awaked a dreadful vision of infancy, which 
the withering and blighting look now fixed on me again forced on 
my recollection, but with much more vivacity, lndeec, I was so 
much surprised, and, 1 must add, terrified, at the vague ideas wffiich 
were awakened in my mind by this fearful sign, that 1 kept my 
eyes fixed on the face in winch it was exhibited, as on a frightful 
vision; until, passing his handkerchief a moment across his counte- 
nance Ihis mysterious man relaxed at once the look which had for 
me something so appalling. “ The young man will no longer deny 
that he has seen me berore,” said he to the justice, in a tone of com- 
placency; “ and 1 trust he will now be reconciled to my temporary 
guardianship, which may end better tor him than he expects.” 

“ Whatever 1 expect,” 1 replied, summoning my scattered recol- 
lections together, “ I see 1 am neither to expect justice nor protection 
from tliis gentleman, whose office it is to render both to the lieges. 
For you, sir, how strangely you have wrought yourself into the fate 
of an unhappy young man, or what interest you can pretend in me, 
you yourself only can explain. That 1 have seen you before is 
certain; tor none can forget the look with which you seem to have 
the pow’er of blighting those upon whom you cast it.” 

The justice seemed not very easy under tliis hint. “ Ha!— ay,” 
he said; “ it is time to be going, neighbor. I have a many miles to 
ride, and I care not to ride darning in these parts. You and 1, Mr. 
Nicholas, must be jogging. ” 

The justice fumbled with his gloves, in endeavoring to draw them 
on hastily, and Mr. Nicholas bustled to get his great-coat and whip. 
Their landlord endeavored to detain them, and spoke of supper and 
beds. Both pouring forth many thanks for his invitation, seemed 
as if they w r ould much rather not; and Mr. Justice Foxley was 
making a score of aplogies, wuth at least a hundred cautionary hems 
and eh-ehs, when the girl Dorcas burst into the room, and an- 
nounced a gentleman on justice business. 

“ What gentleman? — and whom does he want?” 

“He is cuome post on his ten toes,” said the wench; “and on 
justice business to his worship loike. l’se uphald him a gentle- 
man, for he speaks as good Latin as the schule-measter; but, lack- 
a-day! he has gotten a queer mop of a wig.” 


162 


REDGAUNTLET. 


The gentleman, thus announced and described, bounced into the 
room. But 1 have already written as much as fills a sheet ot my 
paper, and my singular embarrassments press so hard on me, that I 
have matter to fill another from what followed the intrusion ot— my 
dear Alan— your crazy cheat — Poor Peter Peebles! 


CHAPTER VII. 

LATIMER’S JOURNAL, IN CONTINUATION. 

Sheet 2. 

1 have rarely in my life, till the last alarming days, known what 
it was to sustain a moment’s real sorrow. What 1 called such, was, 
1 am now well convinced, only the weariness ot mind, which, hav- 
ing nothing actually present to complain of, turns upon itself, and 
becomes anxious about the past and the future; those periods with 
which human life has so little connection, that Scripture itself hath 
said, “ Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.” 

If, therefore, I have sometimes abused prosperity, by murmuring 
at unknown birth and uncertain rank in society, 1 will make 
amends by bearing my present real adversity with patience and 
courage, and, if I can. even with gayety. What can they — dare 
they, do to me? Foxley, I am persuaded, is a real justice of ihe 
peace, and country gentleman of estate, though (wonderful to tell!) 
he is an ass notwithstanding: and his functionary in the drab coat 
must have a shrewd guess at the consequences of being accessory to 
an act of murder or kidnapping. Men invite not such witnesses to 
deeds of darkness. I have also — Alan, I have hopes, arising out of 
the family of the oppressor himself. 1 am encouraged to believe 
that G. M. is likely again to enter on the field. More I dare not 
here say; nor must I drop a hint which another eye than thine might 
be able to construe. Enough, my feelings are lighter than they 
have been, and though fear and wonder are still around me, they 
are unable entirely to overcloud the horizon. 

Even when 1 saw the spectral form of the old scarecrow of the 
Parliament House rush into the apartment where I had undergone 
so singular an examination, 1 thought of thy connection with him, 
and could almost have parodied Lear— 

“ Death !— nothing could have thus subdued nature 
To such a lowness, but his 1 learned lawyers.’ ” 

He was e’en as we have seen him of yore, Alan, when, rather to 
keep thee company than to follow my own bent, 1 formerly fre- 
quented the halls of justice. The only addition to his dress, in the 
capacity of a traveler, was a pair of boots, that seemed as if they 
might have seen the field ot Sheriff moor; so large and heavy, that, 
tied as they were to the creature’s wearied hams with large bunches 
of worsted tape of various colors, they looked as it he had been 
dragging them along, either for a wager, or by way of penance. 

Regardless of the surprised looks of the party on whom he thus 
intruded himself, Peter blundered into the middle of the apartment. 


REDGAUNTLET. 163 

with his bead charged like a ram’s in the act of butting, and saluted 
them thus— 

“ Gude day to ye, gude day to your honors. Is’t here they sell 
the fugie warrants?” 

1 observed that, on his entrance, my friend — or enemy — drew 
himself back, and placed himself as if he would rather avoid at- 
tracting the observation of the new-comer. 1 did the same myself 
as far as I was able; for 1 thought it likely that Mr. Peebles might 
recognize me, as indeed 1 was too frequently among the group of 
young juridical aspirants who used to amuse themselves by put- 
ting cases for Peter’s solution, and playing him worse tricks; yet I 
was uncertain whether I had better avail myself of our acquaintance 
to have the advantage, such as it might be, of his evidence before 
the magistrate, or whether to make him, it possible, bearer of a let- 
ter which might procure me more effectual assistance. I resolved, 
therefore, to be guided by circumstances, and to watch carefully 
that nothing might escape me. 1 drew back as far as 1 could, and 
oven reconnoitered the door and passage, to consider whether abso- 
lute escape might not be practicable. But there paraded Cristal 
Nixon, whose little black eyes, sharp as those of'a basilisk, seemed, 
the instant when they encountered mine, to penetrate my purpose. 

1 sat down, as much out of sight of all parties as I could, and 
listened to the dialogue which followed — a dialogue how much more 
interesting to me than any 1 could have conceived, in which Peter 
Peebles was to be one of the dramatis persona I 

“ Is it here where ye sell the warrants — the fugies, ye ken?” said 
Peter. 

“ Hey — eh — what!” said Justice Foxley; “ what the devil does 
the fellow mean? What would you have a warrant for?” 

” It is to apprehend a young lawyer that is meditatione in fugce ; 
for he has ta’en my memorial and pleaded my cause, and a good 
fee 1 gave him, and as muckle brandy as he could drink that day 
at his lather’s house— -he loes ihe brandy ower weel forsae youthful 
a creature.” 

“ And what has this drunken young dog of a lawyer done to you, 
that, you are come to me— eh — ha? Has he robbed you? Not un- 
likely it he be a lawyer — eh — Nick— ha?” said Justice Foxley. 

“ He has robbed me of himself, sir,” answered Peter; ” of his 
help, comfort, aid, maintenance, wliilk, as a counsel to a client, he 
is bound to yield me rations officii — that is it, ye see. He has 
pouched my fee, and drucken a mutchkin of brandy, and now lie’s 
ower the maoh, and left my cause, half won half lost — as dead a 
heat as e'er was run ower the hacksands. Now, I was advised by 
some cunning laddies that are used to crack a bit law wi’ me in the 
House, that the best thing 1 could do was to take heart o’ grace and 
set out alter him; so 1 have taken post on my aiu shanks, forby a 
cast in a cart, or the like. 1 got wind of him in Dumfries, and now 
1 have run him ower to the English side, and 1 want a fugie war- 
rant against him.” 

How did my heart throb at this information, dearest Alan! Thou 
-art near me then, and I well know with what kind purpose; thou 
hast abandoned all to fly to my assistance; and no woiuler that, 
knowing thy friendship and faith, thy sound sagacity and persever- 


164 


REDGAUNTLET. 


ing disposition, “ my bosom’s lord should now sit lightly on his 
throne;” that gayety should almost involuntarily hover on my pen; 
and that my heait should beat like that of a general, responsive to 
the drums of his advancing ally, without whose help the battle must 
have been lost. 

1 did not suffer myself to be startled by this joyous surprise, but 
continued to bend my strictest attention to what followed, among 
this singular party. That Poor Peter Peebles had been put on this 
wild-goose chase by some of his juvenile advisers in the Parliament 
House, he himself had intimated; but he spoke with much confi- 
dence, and the justice, who seemed to have some secret apprehen- 
sion of being put to trouble in the matter, and, as sometimes occurs 
on the English frontier, a jealousy lest the superior acuteness of 
their northern neighbors might overreach their own simplicity, 
turned to his clerk with a perplexed countenance. 

*‘ Eh — oh — Nick— d — n thee. Hast thou got nothing to say? 
This is more Scots law, 1 take it, and more Scotsmen.” (Here he 
cast a side glance at the owner of the mansion, and winked to his 
clerk.) “ I would Solway were as deep as it is wide, and we had 
then some chance of keeping of them out.” 

Nicholas conversed an instant aside with the supplicant, and then 
reported: — 

‘‘The man wants a border warrant, 1 think; but they are Giiy 
granted for debt — now he wants one to catch a lawyer.” 

‘‘ Ana what for no?” answered Peter Peebles, doggedly, “ what 
for no, 1 would be glad to ken? If a day’s laborer refuse to work, 
ye’ll grant a warrant to gar him to do out his daurg — if a wencli 
quean rin away from her hairst, ye’ll send her back to her heuck 
again — if sae mickle as a collier or a sailer make a moonlight flit- 
ting, ye will cleek him by the back-spaul in a minute of time, and 
yet the damage can not amount to mair than a creelfu’ of coals, 
and a forpit or Iwa of saut; and here is a chield taks leg from his 
engagement, and damages me to the tune of sax thousand pounds 
sterling; that is, three thousand that I should win, and three thou- 
sand mair that I am like to lose; and you that ca’ yourself a, justice 
canna help a poor man to catch the rinaway? A bonny-like justice 
1 am like to get amang yel” 

*‘ The fellow must be drunk,” said the clerk. 

“Black fasting from all but sin,” replied the supplicant; “1 
havena had mair than a mouthful of cauld water since i passed the 
border, and deil a ane of ye is like to say to me, ‘Dog, will ye 
drink?’ ” 

The justice seemed moved by this appeal. 44 Hem— tush, man,” 
replied he; 44 thou speatPst to us as if tnou wert in presence of one 
of thine own beggarly justices— get down-stairs- 2 *- get something to 
eat, man (with permission of my friend to make so free in his 
house), and a mouthful to drink, and 1 warrant we get ye such jus- 
tice as will please ye.” 

“ 1 winna refuse your neighborly offer,” said Poor Peter Peebles, 
making his bow r : “ muckle grace be wi’ your honor, andwusdom to 
guide you in this extraordinary cause.” 

When 1 saw Peter Peebles about to retire from the room, 1 could 
not forbear an effort to obtain from him such evidence as might 


REDGAUNTLET. 165 

give me some credit with the Justice. 1 stepped forward, there- 
fore, and saluting him, asked him if he remembered me? 

After a stare or two, and a long pinch of snuff, recollection seemed 
suddenly to dawn on Peter Peebles. “ Recollect ye!” he said; “ by 
my troth do 1. Haud him a grip, gentlemen!— constables, keep 
him fast! where that ill-deedy hempy is, ye are sure that Alan Fair- 
ford is not far off. Haud him fast, Master Constable; I charge ye 
wi’ him, for 1 am mista’en if he is not at the bottom of this rinaway 
business. He was aye getting the silly callant Alan awa wi’ gigs, 
and horse, and the like of that, to Roslin, and Prestonpans, and a’ 
the idle gates he could think of. He’s a rinaway apprentice, that 
ane.” 

“ Mr. Peebles,” 1 said, “ do not do me wrong. 1 am sure you 
can say no harm of me justly, but can satisfy these gentlemen, if 
you will, that 1 am a student of law in Edinburgh— Darsie Latimer 
by name.” 

“ Me satisfy! how can I satisfy the gentlemen,” answered Peter, 
“ that am sae far from being satisfied mysell? 1 ken naetbing 
about your name, and can only testify, nihil novi in causa.” 

‘‘A pretty witness you have brought for ward in your favor,” 
said Mr. Foxley. ‘‘But — ha— ay — I’ll ask him a question or two. 
Pray, friend, will you take your oath to this youth being a runaway 
apprentice?” 

“ Sir, ’’said Peter, ** I will make oath to onything in reason; when 
a case comes to my oath it’s a won cause. But 1 am in some hasto 
to speer your worship’s good cheer;” for Peter had become much 
more respectful in his demeanor toward the justice since he had 
heard some intimation of dinner. 

“ You shall have — eh — hum— ay— a bellyful, if it be possible to 
fill it. First, let me know if this young man be really what he pre- 
tends. Nick, make his affidavit.” 

“ Ow, he is just a wud harum-scarum creature, that wad never 
take to his studies; daft, sii, clean daft.” 

“ Deft!” said the justice; “ what d’ye mean by deft— eh?” 

‘‘Just Fifish,” replied Peter; “ wowt— a wee bit by the East 
Nook or sae; it’s a common case — the ae half of the world thinks 
the tither daft. 1 have met with folk in my day that thought 1 was 
daft myself; and for my part, I think our Court of Session clean 
daft, that have had the great cause of Peebles against Plainstanes 
before them for this score of years, and have never been able to ding 
the bottom out of it yet.” 

”1 can not make out a word of his cursed brogue,” said the 
Cumbrian justice; “can you, neighbor— eh? What can he mean 
by deft?” 

“ He means mad” said the part} appealed to, thrown off his 
guard by impatience of this protracted discussion. 

“ Ye have it— ye have it,” said Peter; “ that is, not clean skivie, 
but-” 

Here he stopped, and fixed his eye on the person he addressed with 
an air ot joyful recognition. “ Ay, ay, Mr. Herries of Birrenswork, 
is this your ainsell in blood and bane? I thought ye had been 
hanged at Kennington Common, or Ilairiebie, or some of these 
places, after the bonny ploy ye made in the forty-five,” 


166 


REDGAUfsTLET. 


“ 1 believe you are mistaken, triend,” said Berries, sternly, with 
whose name and designation 1 was thus made unexpectedly ac- 
quainted. 

“The deil a bit,” answered the undaunted Peter Peebles. “I 
mind ye weel, lor ye lodged in my house the great year of forty- 
five, for a great year it was; the Grand Rebellion broke out, and 
my cause — the great cause — Peebles against Plainstanes, et j)er 
contra— was called in the beginning ot the winter session, and wou d 
hare been heard, but that there was a surcease of justice, with your 
plaids, and your piping, and your nonsense.” 

“ 1 tell you, fellow,” said Berries, yet more fiercely, “ you have 
confused me with some of the other furniture of your crazy 
pate.” 

“ Speak like a gentleman, sir,” answered Peebles; “ these are not 
legal phrases, Mr. Berries of JtJirrenswork. Speak in form of law, 
or l sail bid ye guid-day, sir. 1 have nae pleasure in speaking to 
proud folk, though 1 am willing to answer onything in the legal 
way; so if you are for a crack about auld lang syne, and. the splores 
that you and Captain Redgimlet used to breed in my house, and 
the girded cask of brandy that ye drank and ne’er thought of pay- 
ing for it (not that I minded it rnuckle in thae days, thougn 1 have 
felt a lack of it sin syne), why, 1 will waste an hour on ye at ony 
time. And wheie is Captain Redgimlet now? he was a wild chap, 
like yoursell, though they arnna sae keen after you poor bodies for 
these some years bygane; the heading and hanging is weel ower 
now — awtul job — will ye try my sneeshing?” 

He concluded his desultory speech by thrusting out his large bony 
paw, filled with a Scottish mull of liuge dimensions, which Berries, 
who had been standing like one petrified by the assurance of this 
unexpected address, rejected with a contemptuous motion of his 
hand, which spilled some of the contents ot the box. * 

“ Aweel, aweel!” said Peter Peebles, totally unabashed by the re- 
pulse, “ e’en as ye like, a willful man maun hae his wav; but,” he 
added, stooping down and endeavoring to gather the spilled snutt 
from the polished floor, “ 1 canna afford to lose my sneeshing for 
a’ that ye are gumple foisted wi’ me.” 

My attention had been keenly awakened during this extraordinary 
and unexpected scene. 1 watched with as much attention as my 
own agitation permitted me to command the effect produced on the 
parties concerned. It was evident that our friend Peter Peebles had 
unwarily let out something which altered the sentiments of Justice 
Foxley and his clerk toward Mr. Berries with whom, until lie was 
known and acknowledged under that name, they had appeared to 
be so intimate. They talked with each other aside, looking at a 
paper ot two which the clerk selected from the contents of a huge 
black pocket-book, and seemed under the influence ot fear and un- 
certainty, totally at a loss what line of conduct to adopt. 

Heiries made a different aud far more interesting figure. ilow r - 
ever little Peter Peebles might resemble the angel Ithuriel, the ap- 
pearance of Herries, his high and scornful demeanor, vexed at what 
seemed detection, yet fearless of the consequences, and regarding 
the whispering magistrate aud his clerk with looks in which con- 


REDGAUNTLET. 167 

tempt predominated ovei anger or anxiety, bore, in my opinion, no 
slight resemblance to— 


“ The regal port 

And faded splendor wan ” — 

with which the poet has invested the detected king of the powers of 
the air. 

As he glanced round with a look which he had endeavored to 
compose to haughty indifference, his eye encountered mine, and, 1 
thought, at the first glance, sunk beneath it. But he instantly 
rallied his natural spirit, and returned me one of those extraordinary 
looks, by which he could contort so strangely the wrinkles on his 
forehead. 1 started; but angry at myself for my pusillanimity, I 
answered him by a look of the same kind, and catching the reflec- 
tion of my countenance in a large antique mirror which stood before 
me, 1 staited again at the real or imaginary resemblance which my 
countenance at that moment bore to that of Herries. Surely my 
fate is somehow strangely interwoven with that of this mysterious 
individual. 1 had no time at present to speculate upon the subject, 
for the subsequent conversation demanded all my attention. 

The justice addressed Herries, after a pause of about five minutes, 
in which all parties seemed at some loss how to proceed. He spoke 
with embarrassment, and his faltering voice, and the long intervals 
which divided his sentences, seemed to indicate fear of him whom 
he addressed. 

“ Neighbor,” he said, “ I could not have thought this; or if l-~ 
eh — did think— in a corner of my own mind, as it were— that you, 
1 say— that you might have unluckily engaged in — eh— the matter 
oi foity-five — there was still time to have forgot all that.” 

“ And is it so singular that a man should have been out in the 
forty-five?” said Ileiries, with contemptuous composure — ‘‘your 
father, 1 think, Mr. Foxley, was out with Derwentwater in the 
fifteen.” 

“ And lost half of nis estate,” answered Foxley, with more rapidity 
than usual; “ and was very near— hem — being hanged into the boot. 
But this is — another guess job— for — eh — fifteen is not forty five; 
and my father had a remission, and you, I take it, have none.” 

‘‘ PerhanB 1 have,” said Herries, indifferently; “ or if 1 have not, 
1 am but in the case of half a dozen others, whom Government do 
not think worth looking after at this time of day, so they give no 
offense or disturbance.” 

“ But you have given both, sir,” said Nicholas Faggot, the clerk, 
who, having some petty provincial situation, as I have since under- 
stood, deemed himself bound to be zealous for Government. “ Mr. 
Justice Foxley can not be answerable tor letting you pass free, now 
your name and surname have been spoken plainly out. There are 
warrants out against you from the Secretary of State’s office.” 

“ A. proper allegation, Mr. Attorney! that, at the distance of so 
many years the Secretary of State should trouble himself about the 
unfortunate relics of a ruined cause,” answered Mr. Herries. 

“ But it it be so,” said the clerk, who seemed to assume more 
confidence upon the composure of Herries’s demeanor; “ and if 
cause had been given by the conduct of a gentleman himself, who 


168 


REDGAUNTLET. 


hath been, it is alleged, raking up old matters, and mixing them 
with new subjects ot disaffection — 1 say, if it be so. 1 should advise 
the party, in his wisdom, to surrender himself quietly into the law- 
ful custody of the next justice ot peace — Mr. Foxley, suppose — 
where, and by whom, the matter should be regularly inquired into. 
1 am only putting a case,” he added, watching with apprehension 
the effect which his words were likely to produce upon the party to 
whom they were addressed. 

“ And were 1 to receive such advice,” said Herries, with the same 
composure as before — “ putting the case, as you say, Mr. Faggot — 
1 should request to see the warrant which countenanced such a scan- 
dalous proceeding.” 

Mr. Nicholas, by way ot answer, placed in his hand a paper, and 
seemed anxiously to expect the consequences which were to ensue. 
Mr. Herries looked it over with the same equanimity as before, and 
then continued, 44 And were sufcli a scrawl as this presented to me 
in my own house, 1 would throw it into the chimney, and Mr. 
Faggot upon Ike top of it.” 

Accordingly, seconding the word with the action, he flung the 
warrant into the fire with one hand, and fixing the other, with a 
stern and irresistible grip, on the breast of the attorney, who, totally 
unable to contend with him, in either personal strength or mental 
energy, trembled like a chicken in the raven’s clutch. He got off, 
however, for the fright; for Herries, having probably made him 
fully sensible of the strength of his grasp, released him with a 
scornful laugh. 

” Deforcement— spulzie — stoutlirief — masterful rescue!” ex- 
claimed Peter Peebles, scandalized at the resistance offered to the 
law in the person ot Nicholas Faggot. But bis shrill exclamations 
were drowned in the thundering voice of Herries, who, calling upou 
Cristal Nixon, ordered him to take the bawling fool down-stairs, fill 
his belly, and then give him a guinea, and thrust him out of doors. 
Under such injunctions, Peter easily suffered himself to be with- 
drawn from the scene. 

Herries then turned to the Justice, whose visage, wholly aban- 
doned by the rubicund hue which so lately beamed upon it, hung 
out the same pale livery as that of his dismayed clerk. 41 Old friend 
and acquaintance,” he said, “ you came here at my request on a 
friendly errand, to convince this silly young man of the right which 
1 have over his person for the present. 1 trust you do not intend 
to make your visit the pretext of disquieting me about other mat- 
ters? All the world knows that I have been living at large, in these 
northern counties, for some months, not to say years, and might 
have been apprehended at any lime, bad the necessities of the state 
required, or my own behavior deserved it. But no English magis- 
trate has been ungenerous enough to trouble a gentleman under mis- 
fortune, on account of political opinions anddisputes, which have 
been long ended by the success of the reigning powers. 1 trust, my 
good friend, you will not endanger yourself by taking any other 
view ot the subject than you have done ever since we were ac- 
quainted?' ’ 

The Justice answered with more readiness, as well as more spirit 
than usual, 44 Neighbor lngoldsby— what you say— is— eh — in some 


REDGAUNTLET. 


169 

sort true; anti when you were eonvng and goins at markets, horse- 
races, and cock-fights, fairs, hunts, and such like— it was— eh 

neither my business nor my wish to dispel— I say— to inquire into 
and dispel the mysteries which hung about you; for while you were 

a good companion in the field, and over a bottle now and then I 

did not— eh— think it necessary to ask— into your private affairs. 
And if 1 thought you were— ahem— somewhat unfortunate in former 
undertakings, and enterprises, and connections, which might cause 
you to live unsettled and more private, 1 could have— eh— very little 
pleasure— to aggravate your case by interfering, or requiring expla- 
nations, which are often more easily asked than given. .But when 
there are warrants and witnesses to names— and those names, Chris- 
tian and surname, belong to— eh— an attainted person— charged— I 
trust falsely— with— ahem— taking advantage of modern broils and 
heart burnings to renew our civil disturbances, the case is altered; 
and 1 must — ahem — do my duty.” 

The Justice got on his leet as he concluded this speech, and looked 
as bold as he could. 1 drew close beside him and his clerk, Mr. 
Faggot, thinking the moment favorable for my own liberation, and 
intimated to Mr. Foxley my determination to stand by him. But 
Mr. Herries only laughed at the menacing posture which we assumed. 
“ My good neighbor,” said he, ‘‘.you "talk of a witness. Is yon 
crazy beggar a fit witness in an affair of this nature?” 

“ But you do not deny that you are Mr. Herries of Birrenswork, 
mentioned in the Secretary of State’s warrant?” said Mr. Foxley. 

“ How can 1 deny or own anything about it?” said Herres, with 
a snier. “There is no such warrant in existence now; its ashes, 
like the poor traitor whose doom it threatened, have been dispersed 
to the four winds of heaven. There is now no warrant in the 
world.” 

“ But you will not deny,” said the Justice. “ that you were the 
person named in it; and that— eh— your own act destroyed it?” 

“ 1 will neither deny my name nor my actions, Justice,” replied 
Mr. Herries, “ when called upon by competent authority to avow 
or defend them. But I will resist all impertinent attempts either to 
intrude into my private motives, or to control my person. I am 
quite well prepared to do so; and 1 trust that you, my good neigh- 
bor and brother sportsman, in your expostulations, and my friend 
Mr. Nicholas Faggot here, in his humble advice and petition that I 
should surrender myself, will consider yourselves as having amply 
discharged your duty to King George and Government.” 

The cold and ironical tone in which he made this declaration; 
the attitude, so nobly expressive of absolute confidence in his own 
superior strength and energy, seemed to complete the indecision 
which had already shown itself on the side of those whom he ad- 
dressed. 

The Justice looked to the clerk — the clerk to the Justice; the 
former ha'd, eh'd, without bringing forth an articulate syllable; the 
latter only said, “As the warrant is destroyed, Mr. Justice, 1 pre- 
sume you do not mean to proceed with the arrest?” 

“ Hum— ay— why, no — Nicholas— it would not be quite advisable 
—and as the Forty-five was an old affair— and— ahem— as my friend 
here will, I hope, see his error— that is, if he has not seen it already 


REDGAUNTLET. 


170 

—and renounce ihe Pope, the Devil, and the Pretender — 1 mean 
no harm, neighbor— 1 think we— as we have no posse, or constables, 
or the like— should order our horses— and, in one word, Iook the 
matter over.” 

“ Judiciously resolved,” said the person whom this decision 
affected; “ but before you go 1 trust you will drink and be friends?” 

“ Why,” said the Justice, rubbing his brow, “ our business has 
been— hem — rather a thirsty one.” 

“ Cristal Nixon,” said Mr. Herries, “ let us have a cool tankard 
instantly, large enough to quench the thirst of the whole commis- 
sion.” 

While Cristal was absent on this genial errand, there was a pause, 
of which 1 endeavored to avail myself, by bringing back the dis- 
course 1o my own concerns. “ Sir,” 1 said to Justice Foxley, “ I 
have no direct business with your late discussion with JV1 r. Herries, 
only just thus far. You leave me, a loyal subject of King George, 
an unwilling prisoner in the hands of a person whom you have 
reason to believe unfriendly to the King’s cause. 1 humbly sub- 
mit that this is contrary to your duty as a magistrate, and that you 
ought to make Mr. Herries aware of the illegality of his proceed- 
ings, and take steps for my rescue, either upon the spot, or, at least, 
as soon as possible after you have left this case — ” 

“Young man,” said Mr. Justice Foxley, “I would have you 
remember you are under the power, the lawful power— ahem— of 
your guardian.” 

“ He calls himself so, indeed,” 1 replied; “but he has shown 
no evidence to establish so absurd a claim: and if he had, his cir- 
cumstances, as an attainted traitor excepted from pardon, would void 
such right if it existed. 1 do therefore desire you, Mr. Justice, 
and you, his clerk, to consider my situation, and afford me relief 
at your peril.” 

“ Here is a young fellow now,” said the Justice, with much- 
embarrassed looks; “thinks that I carry the whole statute law of 
England in my head, and a posse comitatus to execute them in. my 
pocket! Why, what good would my interference do? — but — limn 
— eh— 1 will speak to your guardian in your favor.” 

He took Mr. Herries aside, and seemed indeed to urge some- 
thing upon him with much earnestness; and perhaps such a species 
of intercession was all which, in the circumstances, 1 was entitled 
to expect from him. 

They often looked at me, as they spoke together; and as Cristal 
Nixon entered with a huge four-pottle tankard, filled with the bev- 
erage his master had demanded, Herries turned away from Foxley, 
somewhat impatiently, saying with emphasis, “ 1 give you my word 
of honor, that you have not ihe slightest reason to apprehend any- 
thing on his account.” He then took up the tankard, and saying 
aloud, in Gaelic, “ Slaint an JRey,”* just tasted the liquor, and 
handed the tankard to Justice Foxley, who, to avoid the dilemma 
of pledging him to what might be the Pretender’s health, drank to 
Mr. Herries’s own, with much pointed solemnity, but in a draught 
far less moderate. 


* The King's health. 


ItEDGAUNTLET. 


171 

The clerk imitated the example ot his principal, and I was fain 
to follow their example, for anxiety and fear are at least as thirsty 
as sorrow is said to be. In a word, we exhausted the composition 
ot ale, sherry, lerncn-juice, nutmeg, and other good things, 
stranded upon the silver bottom ot the tankard the huge toast, as 
well as the roasted orange, which had wliilome floated jollily upon 
the brim, and rendered legible Dr. Byrom’s celebrated lines en- 
graved thereon — 

11 God bless the King!— God bless the Faith’s defender! 

God bless— no harm in blessing the Pretender. 

Who that Pretender is, and who that King — 

God bless us all! — is quite another thing.” 

1 had time enough to study this effusion of the Jacobite muse, 
while the Justice was engaged in the somewhat tedious ceremony 
of taking leave. That of Mr. Faggot was less ceremonious; but 1 
suspect something besides empty compliment passed betwixt him 
and Mr. Herries; for 1 remarked that the latter slipped a piece of 
paper into the hand ot the tormer, which might perhaps be a little 
atonement foi the rashness with which he had burned the warrant, 
and imposed no gentle hand on the respectable minion of the law 
by whom it was exhibited: and I observe that he made this pro- 
pitiation in such a manner as to be secrtt from the worthy' clerk’s 
principal. 

When this was arranged the party took leave ot each other, with 
much formality on the part of Squire Foxley, amongst whose 
adieus the following phrase was chiefly remarkable: — £ ‘ 1 presume 
you do not intend to stay long in these parts?'’ 

“ Not for the present, Justice, you may be sure; there are good 
reasons to the contrary. But 1 have no doubt of arranging my affairs 
so that we shall speedily have sport together again.” 

He went to wait upon the Justice to the court-yard; and, as he 
did so, commanded Crislal Nixon to see that 1 returned into my 
apartment. Knowing it would be to no purpose to resi-t or tamper 
with that stubborn functionary, 1 obeyed in silence, and was once 
more a prisoner in my former quarters. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

LATIMER’S JOURNAL IN CONTINUATION. 

1 spent more than an hour, aft er returning to the apartment which 
1 may call my prison, in reducing to writing the singular circum- 
stance which I had just witnessed. Methought I could now form 
some guess at the character of Mr. Herries, upon whose name and 
situation the late scene had thrown considerable light:— one ot those 
fanatical Jacobites, doubtless, w T hose arms, not twenty years since, 
hail shaken the British throne, and some ot whom, though their 
party daily diminished in numbers, energy, and power, retained 
still «n inclination to renew the attempt they found so desperate. 
He was indeed perfectly different from the sort of zealous Jacobites 
whom it had been my luck hitherto to meet with. Old ladies of 
family over their hyson, and gray-haired lairds over their punch, I 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


172 

had often heard utter a little harmless treason; while the former 
remembered having led down a dance with the Chevalier, and the 
latter recounted the feats they had performed at Pieston, Clifton, 
and Falkirk. 

The disaffection of such persons was loo unimportant to excite 
the attention of Government. 1 had heard, however, that there 
still existed partisans of the Stuart family, of a more daring and 
dangerous description; men, who, furnished wilh gold from Rome, 
moved, secretly and in disguise, through the various classes of soci- 
ety, and endeavored to keep alive the expiring zeal of their party. 

I had no difficulty in assigning an important post among this 
class of persons, whose agency and exertions are only doubted by 
those who look on the surface of things, to this Mr. Herries, whose 
mental energies, as well as his personal strength and activity, 
seemed to qualify him well to act so dangerous a part; and 1 knew 
that, all along the western border, both in England and Scotland, 
there aie so many Non-jurors, that such a person may reside there 
with absolute safety, unless it becomes, in a very especial degree, 
the object of the Government to secure his person; and which pur- 
pose, even then, might be disappointed by early intelligence, or, as 
in the case of Mr. Foxley, by the unwillingness of provincial mag- 
istrates to interfere in what is now considered an invidious pursuit 
of the unfortunate. 

There have, however, been rumors lately, as if the present state 
of . the nation, or at least of some discontented provinces, agitated 
by a variety of causes, but particularly by the unpopularity of the 
present administration, may seem to this species of agitators a 
favorable period for recommencing their intrigues; while, on the 
other hand, Government may not, at such a crisis, be inclined io 
look upon them with the contempt which a few years ago would 
have been their most appropriate punishment. 

That men should be found rash enough to throw away their serv- 
ices and lives in a desperate cause, is nothing new in history, which 
abounds with instances of similar tievotion — that Mr. Herries is 
such an < nthusiast, is no less evident; but all this explains not his 
conduct toward me. Had he sought to make me a proselyte to his 
ruined cause, violence and compulsion were arguments very un- 
likely to prevail with any generous spirit. But even if such were 
his object, of what use to him could be the acquisition of a single 
reluctant partisan, who could bring only his own person to support 
any quarrel which he might adopt? He had claimed over me the 
rights of a guardian: he had more than hinted that 1 was in a state 
of mind which could not dispense with the authority of such a per- 
son Was this man so sternly despeiate in his purpose— he who 
seemed willing to take on his own shoulders the entire support of a 
cause which had been ruinous to thousands, — was he the person 
that had the power of deciding on my fate? Was it from him 
those dangers flowed, to secure me against which 1 had been edu- 
ated under such circumstances of secrecy and precaution? 

And it this was so, of what nature was the claim which he 
asserted? Was it that ot propinquity? And did 1 share the blood, 
perhaps tlie features, of this singular being? Strange as it may 
seem, a thrill of awe, which shot across my mind at that instant, 


REDGAUNTLET. 


173 

was not unmingled with a wild and mysterious feeling of wonder, 
almost amounting to pleasure. 1 remembered the reflection of my 
own face in the mirror, at one striking moment during the singular- 
interview of tli* day, and 1 hastened to the outward apartment to 
consult a glass which hung there, whether it were possible for my 
countenance to be again contorted into the peculiar frown which so 
much resembled the terrific look of Herries. But 1 folded my 
brows in vain into a thousand complicated wi inkles, and 1 was 
obliged to conclude, either that the supposed mark on my brow was 
altogether imaginary, or that it could not be called forth by vol- 
untary effort; or, in fine, what seemed most likely, that it was such 
a resemblance as the imagination traces in the embers of a wood tire, 
or among the varied veins of marble, distinct at one time, and ob- 
scure or invisible at another, according as the combination of lines 
strikes the eye, or impresses the fancy. 

While 1 was molding my visage like a mad player, the door 
suddenly opened, and the girl of the house entered. Angry and 
ashamed at being detected in my singular occupation, 1 turned 
round sharply, and, 1 suppose, chance produced the change in my 
features which I had been in vain laboring to call forth. 

The girl started back, with her “ Don’t ye look so now — don’t ye, 
for love’s sake — you be as like the ould squoire as — but here a’ 
comes,” she said huddling away out of the room; “and if you 
want a third, there is none but ould Harry, as I know of, that can 
match ye for a brent broo!” 

As the girl muttered tnis exclamation, and hastened out of the 
room, Herries entered. He stopped on observing that I had looked 
again to the mirror, anxious to trace the look by which the wench 
had undoubtedly been terrified. He seemed to guess what was pass- 
ing in my mind, for, as 1 turned toward him, he observed. “ Doubt 
not that it is stamped on your forehead — the fatal mark of our race; 
though it is not now so apparent as it will become when age and 
sorrow, and the traces of stormy passions, and of bitter penitence, 
shall have drawn their furrows on your brow.” 

“ Mysterious man,” 1 replied, “ 1 know not of what you speak; 
your language is as dark as your purposes.” 

“ Sit down, then,” he said, “ and listen; thus far, at least, must 
the veil of which you complain be raised. When withdrawn, it will 
only display guilt and sorrow— guilt followed by strange penalty, 
and sorrow, which Providence has entailed upon the posterity of 
the mourners.” 

He paused a moment, and commenced his narrative, which he 
told with the air of one, who, remote as the events were which he 
recited, took still the deepest interest in them. The tone of his 
voice, which 1 have already described as rich and powerful, aided 
by ils inflections the effects of his story, which I will endeavor to 
write down, as nearly as possible, in the very words which he used: 

“ It was not of late years that the English learned that their best 
chance of conquering their independent neighbors must be by intro- 
ducing amongst them division and civil war. You need not be re- 
minded of the state of thralldom to which Scotland was reduced by 
the unhappy wars betwixt the domestic factions of Bruce and Baliol; 
nor how, after Scotland had been emancipated from a foreign yoke. 


174 


REDGAUNTLET. 


by the conduct and valor of the immortal Bruce, the whole fruits 
of the triumphs of Bannockburn were lost in the dreadful defeats of 
Dupplin and Halid on; and Edward Baliol, the minion and feudatoiy 
of his namesake of England, seemed, foi a brief season, in safe and 
uncontested possession of the throne so lately occupied by the 
greatest general and wisest prince in Europe. But the experience 
of Bruce had not died with him. There were many who had shared 
his martial labors, and all remembered the successful efforts by 
which, under circumstances as disadvantageous as those of his son, 
he had achieved the liberation of Scotland. 

“The usurper, Edward Baliol, was feasting with a few of his 
favorite retainers in the Castle of Annan, when he was suddenly 
surprised by a chosen band of insurgent patriots. Their chiefs 
were, Douglas, Randolph, the young Earl of Moray, and Sir Simon 
Fraser; and their success was so complete, that Baliol was obliged 
to fly tor his life, scarcely clothed, and on a horse which there was 
no leisure to saddle. It was of importance to seize his person, if 
possible, and his flight was closely pursued by a valiant knight of 
Norman descent, whose family had been long settled in the marches 
of Dumfriesshire. Their Norman appellation was Fitz Aldin, but 
this knight, from the great slaughter which he had made of the 
Southron, and the reluctance which he had shown to admit them to 
quarter during the former war of that bloody period, had acquired 
the name of Redgauntlet, which he transmitted to his posterity—’’ 

“ Redgauntlet!” 1 involuntarily lepeated. 

“ Yes, Redgauntlet,” said my alleged guardian, looking at me 
keenly; “ does that name recall any associations to your mind?” 

“ No,” 1 replied, “ except that I lately heard it given to the hero 
of a supernatural legend.” 

'* There are many such concerning the family,” he answered; and 
then pioceeded in his narrative. 

“ Alberick Redgauntlet, the first of his house so termed, was, as 
may be supposed lrom his name, of a stern and implacable disposi- 
tion, which had been rendered more so by family discord. An only 
son, now a youth of eighteen, shared so much the haughty spirit 
of his father, that he became impatient of domestic control, resisted 
paternal authority, anil finally fled from his father’s house, re- 
nounced his political opinions, and awakened his mortal displeasure 
by joining the adherents of Baliol. It was said that his father 
cursed, in his wrath, his degenerate offspring, and swore that, if 
they met, he should perish by his hand. Meantime, circumstances 
seemed to promise atonement tor this great deprivation. The lady 
of Alberick Redgauntlet was again, after many years, in a situation 
which afforded her husband the hope of a more dutiful heir. 

“But the delicacy and deep interest of his wife’s condition did 
not prevent Alberick from engaging in the undertaking of Douglas 
and Moray. He had been the most forward in the attack of the 
castle, and was now foremost in the pursuit of Baliol, eagerly en- 
gaged in dispersing or cutting down the few daring followers who 
endeavored to protect the usurper in his flight. 

“ As these were successively routed or slain, the formidable Red- 
gauntlet, the mortal enemy of the House of Baliol, was within two 
lances’ length of the fugitive Edward Baliol, in a narrow pass. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


175 


when a youth, one of the last who attended the usurper in his flight, 
threw himself between them, received the shock of the pursuer, and 
was unhorsed and overthrown. The helmet rolled from his head, 
and the beams of the sun, then rising over the Solway, sliowed 
Redgauntlet the features of his disobedient son, in the livery, and 
wearing the cognizance, of the usurper. 

“ Redgauntlet beheld his son lying before his horse’s feet; but he 
also saw Baliol, the usurper of the Scottish crown, still, as it 
seemed, within his grasp, and separated from him only by the pros 
Irate body of his overthrown adherent. TV ithout pausing to inquire 
whether young Edward was wounded, he dashed his spurs into his 
horse, meaning to leap over him, but was unhappily fiustrated in 
his purpose. The steed made indeed a bound forward, but was 
unable to clear the body of the youth, and with its hind foot struck 
him on the forehead, as he was in the act of rising. The blow was 
mortal. It is needless to add, that the pursuit was checked, and 
Baliol escaped. 

“ Redgauntlet, ferocious as he is described, was yet overwhelmed 
with the thoughts of the crime he had committed. When he re- 
turned to his castle, it was to encounter new domestic sorrows. His 
wife had been prematurely seized with the pangs of labor, upon 
hearing the dreadful catastrophe which had takeD place. The birth 
of an infant boy cost her her life. Redgauntlet sat by her corpse 
for more than twenty-four hours without changing either feature or 
posture, so far as his terrified domestics could observe. The Abbot 
of Dundrennan preached consolation to him in vain. Douglas, who 
came to visit in his affliction a patriot of such distinguished zeal, 
was more successful in rousing his attention. He caused the 
trumpets to sound an English point of war in the court-yard, and 
Redgauntlet at once sprung to his arms, and seemed restored to the 
recollection which had been lost in the extent of his misery. 

“ From that moment, whatever he might feel inwardly, he gave 
way to no outward emotion. Douglas caused his infant to be 
brought; but even the iron-hearted soldiers were struck with horror 
to observe that, by the mysterious law of nature, the cause of his 
mother’s death, and the evidence of his father’s guilt, was stamped 
on the innocent face of the babe, whose brow was distinctly marked 
by the miniature lesemblance of a horseshoe. Redgauntlet himself 
pointed it out to Douglas, saying, with a ghastly, smile, ‘ It should 
have been bloody.’ 

“ Moved, as he was, to compassion for his brother-in-arms, and 
steeled against all softer feelings by the habits of civil war, Douglas 
shuddered at this sight, and displayed a desire to leave the house 
that was doomed to be the scene of such horrors. As his parting 
advice, he exhorted Alberick Redgauntlet to make a pilgrimage to 
St. Ninian’s of TVhiteherne, then esteemed a shrine of great 
sanctity; and departed with a precipitation which might have ag- 
gravated, had that been possible, the forlorn state of his unhappy 
friend. But tliat seems to hare been incapable of admitting any 
addition. Sir Alberick caused the bodies of his slaughtered son and 
the mother to be laid side by side in the ancient chapel of his house, 
after he had used the skill of a celebrated surgeon of that time to 


176 


REDGAUNTLET. 


embalm them; and it was said that tor many weeks he spent some 
hours nightly in the vault where they reposed. 

“ At length he undertook the proposed pilgrimage to 'White- 
heme, where he confessed himselt for the first time since his mis- 
fortune, and was shrived by an aged monk, who afterward died in 
the odor of sanctity. It is said that it was then foretold to the Red- 
gauntlet, that on account of his unshaken patriotism, his family 
should continue to be powerful amid the changes of future times; 
but that, in detestation of his unrelenting cruelty to his own issue. 
Heaven had decreed that the valor of his race should be fruitless, 
and that the cause which they espoused should never prosper. 

“ Submitting to such penance as was there imposed, Sir Alberick 
went, it is thought, on a pilgrimage either to Rome or to the Holy 
Sepulcher itself. He was universally considered as dead; and it 
was not till thirteen years afterward, that, in the great battle of 
Durham, fought between David Bruce and Queen Philippa of Eng- 
land, a knight, bearing a horseshoe for his crest, appeared in the 
van of the Scottish army, distinguishing himself by his reckless and 
desperate valor; who, being at ItDgth overpowered and slain, was 
finally discovered to be the brave and unhappy Sir Alberick Red- 
gauntlet.” 

“And has the fatal sign,” said 1, when Herries had ended his 
narrative, “ descended on all the posterity of this unhappy house?” 

“It has been so handed down from antiquity, and is still be- 
lieved,” said Herries. “ But perhaps there is, in the popular evi- 
dence, something of that fancy which creates what it sees. Cer- 
tainly, as other families have peculiarities in which they are distin- 
guished, this of Redgauntlet is marked in rnest individuals by a sin- 
gular indenture of the forehead, supposed to be derived from the 
son of Alberick, their ancestor, and brother to the unfortunate Ed- 
ward, who hod perished in so piteous a manner. It is certain there 
seems to have been a fate upon the House of Redgauntlet, which 
has been on the losing side in almost all the civil broils which have 
divided the kingdom of Scotland from David Bruce’s days till the 
late valiant and unsuccessful attempt of the Chevalier Charles Ed- 
ward.” 

He concluded with a deep sigh, as pne whom the subject had in- 
volved in a train of painful reflections. 

“ And am 1 then,” 1 exclaimed, “ descended from this unhappy- 
race? Do you too belong to it? And if so, why do 1 sustain re- 
straint and hard usage at the hands of a relation?” 

“ Inquire no further for the present,” he said. “ The line of con- 
duct which 1 am pursuing toward you is dictated, not by choice, 
but by necessity. You were withdrawn from the bosom of your 
family, and the care of your legal guardian, by the timidity and 
ignorance of a doting mother, who was incapable of estimating the 
arguments or feelings of those who prefer honor and principle to 
fortune, and even to life. The young hawk, accustomed only to 
the fostering care of its dam, must be tamed by darkness and sleep- 
lessness, ere it is trusted on the wing for the purposes of the 
falconer.” 

I was appalled at this declaration, which seemed to threaten a 
long continuance and a dangerous termination of my captivity, I 


ItEDGAUNTLET. 


17? 

deemed it best, however, to show some spirit, and at the same time 
to mingle a tone of conciliation. “ Mr. Uerries,” 1 said, “ (it I call 
you rightly by that name), let us speak upon this matter without the 
tone of mystery and fear in which you seem inclined to envelop it. 
1 have been long, alas! deprived of the care of that affectionate 
mother to whom you allude — long under the charge of strangers — 
and compelled to form my own resolutions upon the reasoning of 
my own mind. Misfortune— early deprivation— has given me the 
privilege of acting for myself; and constraint shall not deprive me 
of an Englishman’s best privilege.” 

“The true cant of the day,” said Herries, in a tone of scorn. 
“The privilege of free action belongs to no mortal— we are tied 
down by the fetters of duty — our mortal path is limited by the reg- 
ulations of honor— our most indifferent actions are but meshes of the 
web of destiny by which we are all surrounded.” 

He paced the room rapidly, and proceeded in a tone of enthusiasm 
which, joined to some other parts of his conduct, seems to intimate 
an over-excited imagination, were it not contradicted by the general 
tenor of his speech and conduct. 

“ Nothing,” he said, in an earnest yet melancholy voice — “ noth- 
ing is the work of chance— nothing is the consequence of free will 
— the liberty of which the Englishman boasts gives as little real 
freedom to its owner as the despotism of an Eastern Sulian permits 
to his slave. The usurper, William of Nassau, went forth to hunt, 
and thought, doubtless, that it was by an act of his own royal 
pleasure that the horse of his murdered victim was prepared for his 
kingly sport. But Heaven had other views; and before the sun was 
high, a stumble of that very animal over an obstacle so inconsider- 
able as a mole-hillock, cost the haughty rider his life and his 
usurped crown. Do ) t ou think an inclination of the rein could have 
avoided that trilling impediment? 1 tell you it crossed his way as 
inevitably as all the long chain of Caucasus could have done. Yes, 
young man, in doing and suffering, we play but the part allotted 
by Destiny, the manager of this strange drama, stand bound to act 
no mbre than is prescribed, to say no more than is set down for us; 
and yet we mouth about free will and freedpm of thought and ac- 
tion, as if Richard must not die, or Richmond conquer, exactly 
where the author has decreed it shall be so!” 

He continued to pace the room after this speech, with folded 
arms and downcast looks; and the sound of his steps and tone of his 
voice brought to my remembrance that I had lieaid this singular 
person, when 1 met him on a former occasion, uttering such solilo- 
quies in his solitary chamber. I observed that, like other .Jacob- 
ites, in his inveteracy against the memory of King William, he had 
adopted the party opinion that the monarch, on the day he had his 
fatal accident, rode upon a horse once the property of the unfortu- 
nate Sir John Friend, executed for High Treason in 1696. 

It was not my business to aggravate, but, if possible, rather to 
soothe him in whose power 1 was so singularly placed. When 1 
conceived that the keenness of his feelings had in some degree sub- 
sided,! answered him as follows: — “ I will not— indeed 1 feel my- 
self incompetent to— argue a question of such metapnysical sub- 
tlety as that which involves the limits betwixt free will and predes- 


EEOOAUKTLET. 


178 


tination. Let as hope we may live honestly and die hopefully, 
withoutAreing obliged to form a decided opinion upon a point so 
far beyond our comprehension.” 

“ Wisely resolved,” he interrupted, with a sneer — ” there came a 
note from some Geneva sermon.” 

“ But,” 1 proceeded, “ 1 call your attention to the fact that I, as 
well as you, am acted upon by impulses, the result either of my 
own free-will or the consequences of the part which is assigned to 
me by destiny. These may be— nay, at present they are— in direct 
contradiction to those by which you are actuated, and how shall we 
decide which shall have precedence? You perhaps feel yourself 
destined to act as my jailer, 1 feel myself, on the contrary, destined 
to attempt and effect my escape. One of us must be wrong, but 
who can say which errs till the event has decided betwixt us?” 

“ 1 shall not feel myself destined to have recourse to severe modes 
of restraint,” said he, in the same tone of halt- jest, half-earnest, 
which 1 had used. 

” In that case,” 1 answered, “ it will be my destiny to attempt 
everything for my lreedom.” 

“And it may be mine, young man,” he replied, in a deep and 
stern tone, “ to take care that you should rather die than attain your 
purpose.” 

This was speaking out indeed, and I did not allow him lo go un- 
answered. ‘‘You threaten me in vain,” said 1; “ the laws of my 
country will protect me; or whom they can not protect they will 
avenge.” 

1 spoke this firmly, and he seemed for a moment silenced; and 
the scorn with which he at last answered me, had something of 
affectation in it. 

“ The laws!” he said, ‘‘ and what, stripling, do you know of the 
laws of your country? Could you learn jurisprudence under a base- 
born blotter of parchment, such as Saunders Fairford; or from the 
empty pedautic coxcomb, his son, who now, forsooth, writes him- 
self advocate? When Scotland was herself, and had her own king 
and legislature, such plebeian cubs, instead of being called to the 
bar of her Supreme Courts, would scarce have been admitted to the 
honor of bearing a sheepskin process-bag.” 

Alan, 1 could not bear this, but answered indignantly, that he 
knew not the worth and honor from which he was detracting.' 

“ 1 know as much of these Fairfords as 1 do of you,” he replied. 

“ As much,” said 1; “ and as little, for you can neither estimate 
their real worth noi mine. ] know you saw them when last in Ed- 
inburgh.” 

“ Ha!” he exclaimed, and turned on me an inquisitive look. 

“It is true,” said 1; ‘‘you can not deny it; and having th as 
shown you that 1 know something of your motions, let me warn 
you 1 have modes of communication with which you are pot ac- 
quainted. Oblige me not to use them to your prejudice.” 

“ Prejudice me?” he replied. ” Young man, 1 smile at, and for- 
give, your folly. Nay, I will tell you that of which you are not 
aware, namely, that it was from letters received from those Fair- 
fords that 1 first suspected, what the result of my visit to them con- 
firmed, that you were the person w T liom 1 had sought for years.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


179 


“If vou learned this*,” said 1, “from the papers which were 
about my person on the night when 1 was under the necessity of be- 
coming your guest at Brokenburn, 1 do not envy your indifference 
to the means ot acquiring information. It was dishonorable to — ” 

“ Peace, young man,” said Herries, more calmly than 1 might 
have expected; “the w T ord dishonor must not be mentioned as in 
conjunction with my name. Your pocket-book was in the pocket 
of youi coat, and did not escape the curiosity of another, though it 
would have been sacred from mine. My servant, Cristal Nixon, 
brought me the intelligence after you were gone. I was displeased 
with the manner in which he had acquired his information; but it 
was not the less my dut} r to ascertain its truth, and tor that purpose 
1 went to Edinburgh. 1 was in hopes to persuade Mr, Fairford to 
have entered into my views; but 1 found him too much prejudiced 
to permit me to trust him. He is a wretched, yet a timid slave of 
the present government, under which our unhappy country is dis- 
honorably inthralled; and it would have been altogether unfit and 
unsafe to have intrusted him with the secret either of the right 
which 1 possess to direct your actions, or of the manner in which 1 
purpose to exercise it.” 

1 was determined to take advantage of his communicative humor, 
and obtain, it possible, more light upon his purpose. He seemed 
most accessible to being piqued on the point of honor, and l re- 
solved to avail myself, but with caution, ot his sensibility upon 
that topic. “ You say,” 1 replied, “ that you are not Iriendly to 
indirect practices, and disapprove of the means by which your do- 
mestic obtained information of my name and quality. Is it honor- 
able to avail yourself of that knowledge which is dishonorably ob- 
tained?” 

“ It is boldly asked,” he replied; “ but, within certain necessary 
limits, I dislike not boldness of expostulation. You have in this 
short conference displayed more character and energy than 1 was 
prepared to expect. You will, 1 trust, resemble a forest plant, 
which has indeed, by some accident, been brought up in the green- 
house, and thus rendered delicate and effemiuale, but which re- 
gains its native firmness and tenacity when exposed for a season to 
the winter air. 1 will answer your question plainly. In business, 
as in. war, spies and informers are necessary evils, which all good 
men detest; bui which yet all prudent men must use, unless they 
mean to fight and act blindfold. But nothing can justify the use of 
falsehood and treachery in our own person.” 

“ You said to the elder Mr. Fairford,” continued I, with the same 
boldness, which I began to find was my best game, “ that l was the 
son of Ralph Latimer ot Langcote Hall? How do you reconcile 
this with your late assertion that my name is not Latimer?” 

He colored as he replied, “The doting old fool lied; or perhaps 
mistook my meaning. I said that gentleman might be your father. 
r Io say truth, 1 wished you to visit England, j r our native country; 
because, when you might do so. my rights over you would revive.” 

This spee'ch fully led me to understand a caution which had been 
often impressed upon me, that, if I regarded my safety, 1 should 
not cross the southern Border; and I cursed my own folly, which 
kept me fluttering iike a moth around the candle, until 1 was be- 


180 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


irayed into the calamity, with which I had dallied. ‘ What are 
those rights,” 1 said, “ which you claim over me? To what eud 
do you propose to turn them?” 

“ To a weighty one, you may be certain,” answered Mr. Merries; 
“ but 1 do not, at present, mean to communicate to you either its 
nature or extent. You may judge of its importance, when, in order 
entirely to possess myself of your person, I condescended to mix 
myself with the fellows who destroyed the fishing-station of 3 r on 
wretched Quaker. That 1 held him in contempt, and w T as dis- 
pleased at the greedy devices with which he ruined a manly sport, 
is true enough; but, unless as it favored my designs on you, he 
might have, for me, maintained his s*ake-nets till Solway should 
cease to ebb and flow.” 

“ Alas!” 1 said, “ it doubles my regret to have been the unwilling 
cause of misfortune to an honest and friendly man.” 

“ Do not grieve tor that,” said Herries, “ honest Joshua is one of 
those who, by dint of long prayers, can possess themselves of wid- 
ows’ houses— he will quickly repair his losses. When he sustains 
any mishap, he and the other canters set it down as a debt against 
Heaven, and, by way of set-off, practice rogueries without com- 
punction, till they make the balance even, or incline it to the win- 
ning side. Enough of this for the present. I must immediately 
shift my quarters; for, although 1 do not fear the over zeal of Mr. 
Justice Foxley or his clerk will lead them to any extreme measure, 
yet that mad scoundrel’s unhappy recognition of me may make it 
more serious for them to connive at me, and 1 must not put their 
patience to an over-severe trial. You must prepare to attend me, 
either as a captive or a companion; if as the latter, you must give 
your parole of honor to attempt no escape. Should you be so ill- 
advised as to break your word once pledged, be assured that 1 will 
blow your brains out, without a moment’s scruple.” 

“ I am ignorant of your plans and purposes,” 1 replied, “ and 
can not but hold them dangerous. 1 do not mean to aggravate my 
present situation by any unavailing resistance to the superior force 
which detains me: but 1 will not renounce the right of asserting my 
natural freedom should a favorable opportunity occur. 1 will, 
therefore, rather be your prisoner than your confederate.” 

“That is spoken fairly,” he said: “and yet not without the 
cann 3 ^ caution of one brought up in the Gude Town of Edinburgh. 
On my part, 1 will impose no unnecessary hardship upon 3 ’ou; but, 
on the contrary, your journey shall be made as easy as is consistent 
with your being kept safely. Do you feel strong enough to ride on 
horseback as yet, or would you prefer a carriage? The former mode 
of traveling is best adapted to the country through which we are to 
travel, but you are at liberty to choose between them.” 

1 said, “ 1 felt my strength gradually returning, and that 1 should 
much prefer traveling on horseback. A carriage,” 1 added, “ is so 
close — ” 

“And so easily guarded,” replied Herries, with a look as it he 
would have penetrated my very thoughts— “ that, doubtless, you 
think horseback better calculated for an escape.” 

“My thoughts are my own,” 1 answered: “and though you 
keep my person prisoner, these are beyond your control.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


181 

“ Oh, I can read the book,” he said, “ without opening the 
* leaves. But 1 would recommend to you to make no rash attempt, 
and it will be my care to see that you have no power to make any 
that is likely to be effectual. Linen, and all other necessaries for 
one in your circumstances, are amply provided. Crista! Nixon will 
act as your valet— 1 should rather, perhaps, say your femme de 
chambre. Your traveling dress, you may perhaps consider as sin- 
gular, but it is such as the circumstances require; and, if you object 
to use the articles prepared tor your use, your mode ot journeying 
will be as personally unpleasant as that which conducted you 
hither. Adieu. We now know each other better than we did — it 
will not be my fault if the consequences of further intimacy be not 
a more favorable mutual opinion.” 

He then left me, with a civil good-night, to my own reflections, 
and only turned back to say, that we should proceed on our jour- 
ney at daybreak next morning, at furthest, perhaps earlier he siiid; 
but complimented me by supposing that, as 1 was a spcrtsmau, I 
must always be ready for a sudden start. 

We are then at issue, this singular man and myself. His personal 
views are to a certain point explained. He has chosen an antiquated 
and desperate line of politics, and he claims, from some pretended 
tie of guardianship, or relationship, which lie does not deign to ex- 
plain, but which he seems to have been able to pass current on a 
silly country justice and his knavish clerk, a right to direct and to 
control my motions. The danger which awaited me in England, and 
which 1 might have escaped had 1 remained in Scotland, was 
doubtless occasioned by the authority ot this man. But what my 
poor mother might fear for me as a child — what my English friend, 
Samuel Griffiths, endeavored to guard against during my youth and 
nonage, is now, it seems, come upon me; and, under a legal pre- 
text, 1 am detained in what must be a most illegal manner, by a 
person, too, whose own political immunities have been forfeited by 
his conduct. It matters not — my mind is made up— neither per- 
suasion nor threats shall force me into the desperate designs which 
this man meditates. Whether 1 am of the trifling consequence 
which my life hitherto seems to intimate, or whether I have (as 
would appear from .my adversary’s conduct) such importance, by 
birth or fortune, as may make me a desirable acquisition to a polit- 
ical faction, my resolution is taken in either case. Those who read 
this Journal, if it shall be perused by impartial eyes, shall judge of 
me truly; and if the} r consider me as a fool in encountering danger 
unnecessarily, they shall have no reason to believe me a coward or 
a turn coat, w T hen 1 find myself engaged in it. 1 have been bred in 
sentiments of attachment to the family on the throne, and in these 
sentiments 1 will live and die. 1 have, indeed, some idea that Mi. 
Herries has already discovered that 1 am made of different and 
more unmalleable metal than he had at first believed. There were 
letters from my dear Alan Fairford, giving a ludicrous account of 
my instability of temper, in the same pocket-book, which, accord- 
ing to the admission of my prel ended guardian, fell under the in- 
vestigation of his domestic, during the night I passed at Broken- 
burn, where, as 1 now recollect, my w r et clothes, with the contents 
of my pockets, were, with the thoughtlessness of a young traveler. 


182 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


committed too rashly to the care of a strange servant. And my kind 
friend and hospitable landlord, Mr. Alexander Fairford, may also, 
and with justice, have spoken of my levities to this man. But 
he shall find he has made a false estimate upon these plausible 
grounds, since — 

1 must break off for the present. 


CHAPTER IX. 

latimer’s journal, in continuation. 

There is at length a halt — at length I have gained so much pri- 
vacy as to enable me to continue my Journal. It has become a sort 
of task ot duty to me, without the discharge of which 1 do not feel 
that the business of the day is performed. True, no friendly eye 
may ever look upon these labors, which have amused the solitary 
hours of an unhappy prisoner. Yet, in the meanwhile, the exercise 
of the pen seems to act as a sedative upon my own agitated thoughts 
and tumultuous passions. I never lay it down but 1 rise stronger in 
resolution, more ardent in hope. A thousand vague tears, wild ex- 
pectations, and indigested schemes, hurry through one’s thoughts 
in seasons of floubt and of danger. But by arresting them as they 
flit across the mind, by throwing them on paper, and even by that 
mechanical act compelling ourselves to consider them with scrupu- 
lous and minute attention, we may perhaps escape becoming the 
dupes of our own excited imagination; just as a young horse is 
cured of the vice of starting by being made to stand still and look 
for some time without any interruption at the cause ot its terror. 

There remains but one risk, which is that ot discovery. But be- 
sides the small characters, in which my residence in Mr. Fairford ’s 
house enabled me to excel, tor the purpose of transferring as many 
scroll sneets as possible to a huge sheet of stamped papei, 1 have, as 
1 have elsewheie intimated, had hitherto the comfortable reflection, 
that if the record of my misfortunes should fall into the hands of 
him by whom they are caused, they would, without liaiming any 
one, show him the real character and disposition of the person who 
has become his prisoner —perhaps his victim. Now, however, that 
other names, and other characters are to be mingled with the regis- 
ter of my own sentiments, 1 must take additional care of these pa- 
pers, and keep them in such a manner tnat in case of the least haz- 
ard of detection, 1 may be able to destroy them at a moment’s 
notice. 1 shall not soon or easily forget the lesson 1 have been 
taught, bv the prying disposition which Cristal Nixon, this man's 
agent and confederate, manifested at Brokenburn, and which proved 
the original cause of my sufferings. 

My laying aside the last sheet of my Journal hastily, was occa- 
sioned by the unwonted sound of a violin in the farm-yard beneath 
my windows. It will not appear surprising to those who have made 
music their study, that, after listening to a tew notes, I became at 
once assured that the musician was no other than the itinerant, for- 
merly mentioned as present at the destruction of Joshua Geddes’s 
stake-nets, the superior delicacy and force of whose execution 


ItEDGAUNTLET. 


183 


would enable me to swear to his bow amongst a whole orchestra. 1 
had the less reason to doubt his identity, because he played twice 
oyer the beautiful Scottish air called Wandering Willie; and 1 could 
not help concluding that he did so for the purpose of intimating his 
own presence, since what the French called the nom de guerre of 
the pertormer was described by the tune. 

Hope will catch at the most feeble twig for support in extremity. 
1 knew this man, though deprived of sight, to be bold, ingenious, 
and perfectly capable of acting as a guide. 1 believed 1 bad won 
his good will, by having, in a frolic, assumed the character of his 
partner; and 1 remembered that, in a wild, wandering, and dis- 
orderly course of life, men, as they become loosened from the or- 
dinary bonds of civil society, hold those of comradeship more 
closely sacred; so that honor is sometimes lound among thieves, 
and faith and attachment in such as the law has termed vagrants. 
The history of Richard Cceui de Lion and his minstrel, Blondel, 
rushed, at the same time, on my mind, though 1 could not even 
then suppress a smile at the dignity of the example, when applied to 
a blind fiddler and myself. Still there was something in all this to 
awaken a hope, that if 1 could open a correspondence with this poor 
violer, he might be useful in extricating me from my present situa- 
tion. 

His profession furnished me with some hope that this desired 
communication might be attained ; since it is well known that, in 
Scotland, where there is so much national music, the words and airs 
of which are generally known, there is a kind of' freemasonry 
amongst performers, by which they can, by the mere choice of a 
tune, express a great deal to the hearers. Personal allusions are 
often made in this manner, with much point and pleasantry; and 
nothing is more usual at public festivals, than that the air played to 
accompany a particular health or toast, is made the vehicle of com- 
pliment, of wit, and sometimes of satire.* While these things 
passed through my mind rapidly, 1 heard my friend beneath re- 
commence, for the third time, the air from which his own name 
had been probably adopted, when he was interrupted by his rustic 
auditors. 

“If thou canst play no other spring but that, mon, ho hadst best 
put up bo’s pipes and be jogging, hquoire will be back anon, or 
Master Nixon, and we’ll see who will pay poiper then.” 

Oho, thought I, if I have no sharper ears than those of my friends 
Jan and Dorcas to encounter, 1 may venture an experiment upon 
them; and, as most expressive of my state of captivity, I sung two 
or three lines of the 137th Psalm — 

“ By Babel’s streams we sat and wept.” 

The country people listened with attention, and when I ceased I 
heard them whisper together in tones of commiseration, 4 ‘ Lack-a- 
day, poor soul! so pretty a man to be beside his wits!” 

“ An he be that gate,” said Wandering Willie, in a tone calcu- 


* Every one must remember instances of this festive custom, in which the 
adaptation of the tune to the toast was remarkably felicitous. Old Neil Gk>w, 
and his son Nathaniel, were peculiarly happy on such occasions. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


184 

lated to reach my ears, “ 1 ken naething will raise his spirits like a 
spring.'’ And lie struck up, with great vigor and spirit, the lively 
Scottish air, the words of which instantly occurred to me — 

“ Oh. whistle, and I’ll come t’ ye, my lad, 

Oh, whistle, and I’ll come t’ ye, my lad; 

Though father and mother, and a’ should gae mad, 

Oh, whistle, and I’ll come t’ ye, my lad.” 

1 soon heard a clattering noise of feet in the courtyard, which 1 
concluded to be Jan and Dorcas dancing a jig in their Cumberland 
wooden clogs. Under cover of this din, 1 endeavored to answer 
Willie’s signal by whistling, as loud as I could, 

“ Come back again and loe me 
When a’ the lave are gane.” 

He instantly threw the dancers out, changing his air to 
“ There’s my thumb, I’ll ne’er beguile thee.” 

1 no longer doubted that a communication betwixt us was hap- 
pily established, and that, if 1 had an opportunity of speaking to 
the poor musician, 1 should find him willing to take my letter to the 
post, to invoke the assistance of some active magistrate, or of the 
commanding officer of Carlisle Castle, or, in short to do whatever 
else 1 could point out, in the compass of his power, to contribute to 
my liberation. But to obtain speech of him, 1 must have run the 
risk of alarming the suspicions of Dorcas, if not of her yet more stu- 
pid Corydon. My ally’s blindness prevented his receiving any 
communication by signs from the window — even if 1 could have vent- 
ured to make them, consistently with prudence — so that, notwith- 
standing the mode of intercourse we had adopted was both circuit 
ous and peculiarly liable to misapprehension, 1 saw nothing I could 
do better than to continue if, trusting my own and my correspond- 
ent’s acuteness, in applying to the airs the meaning they were in- 
tended to convey. 1 thought of singing the words themselves of 
some significant song, but feared 1 might, by doing so, attract sus- 
picion. 1 endeavored, therefore, to intimate my speedy departure 
from my present place of residence, by whistling the well-known air 
with which festive parties in Scotland usually conclude the dance— 

“ Good night and joy be wi’ ye a’, 

For here nae langer maun I stay; 

There’s neither friend nor foe of mine 
But wishes that I were away.” 

It appeared that Willie’s powers of intelligence were much more 
active than mine, and that, like a deaf person, accustomed to be 
spoken to by signs, he comprehended, from the very first notes, the 
whole meaning 1 intended to convey; and he accompanied me in 
the air with his violin, in such a manner as at once to show he un- 
derstood my meaning, and to prevent my whistling from beitig at- 
tended to. 

His reply was almost immediate, and was conveyed in the old 
martial air of “ Hey, Johnnie lad, cock up your beaver.” I ran 
over the words, and fixed on the following stanza, as most applica- 
ble to my circumstances: — 


» 


REDGAUNTLET. 


185 


“ Cock up your beaver, and cock it fu’ sprush; 

Well over the border and give them a brush.: 

There's somebody there we'll teach better behavior 
Hey, Johnnie, lad, cock up your beaver.” 

It these sjumds alluded, as 1 hope they do, to the chance of as- 
sistance from Scottish triends, 1 may indeed consider that a door is 
open to hope aud freedom. 1 immediately replied with, 

“ My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; 

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, 

My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

“ Farewell to the Highlands ! farewell to the North' 

The birthplace of valor, the cradle of worth; 

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 

The hills of the Highlands forever I love.” 

Willie instantly played, with a degree of spirit which might have 
awakened hope in Despair herself, if Despair could be supposed to 
understand Scotch music, the fine old Jacobite air, 

“ For a’ that, and a’ that, 

And twice as much as a’ that.” 


1 next endeavored to intimate my wish to send notice of my con- 
dition to my triends; and, despairing to find an air sufficiently ex- 
pressive ot ray purpose, 1 ventured to sing a verse which, in various 
forms, occurs so frequently in old ballads— 


“ Whare will I get a bonnyboy 
That will win hose and shoon; 
That will gae down to Durisdeer, 
And bid my merry men come?” 


He drowned the latter part of the verse by playing, with much 
emphasis, 

“ Kind Robin loes me.” 


Of this, though 1 ran over the verse of the song in my mind, 1 
could make nothing; and before I could contrive any mode of in- 
timating my uncertainty, a cry arose in Hie court-yard that Cristal 
Nixon was coming. My faithful Willie was obliged to retreat, but 
not before he had half played, half hummed, by way of farewell, 

“ Leave thee— leave thee, lad— 

I’ll never leave thee; 

The stars shall gae withershins 
Ere I will leave thee.” 


I am thus, 1 think, secure of one trusty adherent in my mis- 
fortunes; and, however whimsical it may be to rely much on a man 
of his idl 3 profession, and deprived of sight withal, it is deeply im- 
pressed on my mind, that his services may be both useful and 
necessary. There is another quarter from which 1 look for succor, 
and which 1 have indicated to thee, Alan, in more than one passage 
of my Journal. Twice, at the early hour of daybreak, I have seen 
the individual alluded to in the court of the farm, and twice she 
made signs of recognition in answer to the gestures by which 1 en- 
deavored to make her comprehend my situation; but on both occa- 


186 


EEDGAU.NTLET. 


sions she pressed her finger on her lips, as expressive of silence and 
secrecy. 

The manner in which G. M. entered upon the scene for the first 
time, seems to assure me of her good-will, so far as her power may 
reach; and 1 have many reasons to believe it is considerable. Yet 
she seemed hurried and frightened during the very transitory mo- 
ments -of our interview, and 1 think was, upon the last occasion, 
startled by the entrance of some one into the farm-yard, just as she 
was on the point of addressing me. You must not ask whether 1 
am an early riser, since such objects are only to be seen at daybreak; 
and although 1 have never again seen her, yet 1 have reason to 
think she is not distant. It was but three nights ago that, worn 
out by the uniformity of my confinement, 1 had manifested more 
symptoms of despondence than 1 had before exhibited, which 1 con- 
ceive may have attracted the attention of the domestics, through 
whom the circumstances might transpire. On the next morning 
the following lines lay on my table; but how conveyed there 1 can 
not tell. The hand in which they were written is a beautiful Italian 
manuscript:— 

“ As lords their laborers’ hire delay, 

Fate quits our toil with hopes to come, 

Which, if far short of present pay, 

Still owns a debt and names a sum. 

“ Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, 

Although a distant date be given, 

Despair is treason toward man, 

And blasphemy to Heaven.” 

That these lines were written with the friendly purpose of in- 
ducing me to keep up my spirits, L can not doubt; and 1 trust the 
manner in which I 6hall conduct myself may show that the pledge 
is accepted. 

The dress is arrived in which it seems to be my self-elected 
guardian’s pleasure that 1 shall travel; and what does it prove to 
be? A skirt, or upper petticoat of camlet, like those worn by 
country ladies of moderate rank when on horseback, with such a 
riding-mask as they frequently use on journeys to preserve their 
eyes and complexion from the sun and dust, and sometimes, it is 
suspected, to enable them to play oft a little coquetry. From the 
gayer mode of employing the mask, however, I suspect 1 shall be 
precluded; for instead of being only pasteboard, covered with black 
velvet, 1 observe with anxiety that mine is thickened with a plate of 
steel, which, like Quixote’s visor, serves to render it more strong 
and durable. 

Ibis apparatus, together with a steel clasp for securing the mask 
behind me with a padlock, gave me fearful recollections of the 
unfortunate being, who, never being permitted to lay aside such a 
visor, acquired the well-known historical epithet of the Man in the 
Iron Masx. I hesitated a moment whether I should so far submit 
to the acts of oppression des : gued against me as to assume this dis- 
guise, which was, of course, coutrived to aid their purposes. But 
then 1 remembered Mr. Henies’ threat, that 1 should be kept close 
prisoner in a carriage, unless 1 assumed the dress which should be 
appointed tor me; and 1 considered the comparative degree of free- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


187 

dom which 1 might purchase by wearing the mask and female 
dress, as easily and advantageously purchased. Here, therefore, I 
must pause lor the present, and await what the morning may bring 
forth. 

******** 

To carry on the story from the documents before us we think it 
proper here to drop the Journal of the captive Darsie Latimer, and 
adopt, instead, a narrative of the proceedings of Alan Fairford in 
pursuit of his friend, which forms another series in this history. 


CHAPTER X. 

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD. 

The reader ought, by this time, to have formed some idea of the 
character ol Alan Fairford. He had a warmth of heart which the 
study of the law and of the world could not chill, and talents which 
they had rendered unusually acute. Deprived of the personal pat- 
ronage enjoyed by most of his contemporaries, who assumed the 
gown under the protection of their aristocratic alliances and de- 
scents, he early saw that he should have that to achieve for himself 
which tell to them as a right of birth. He labored hard in silence 
and solitude, and his labors were crowned with success. But Alan 
doted on his friend Darsie, even more than he loved his profession, 
and, as we have seen, threw everything aside when he thought 
Latimer in danger; forgetting fame and fortune, and hazarding 
even the serious displeasure of his father, to rescue him whom he 
loved with an elder brother’s affection. Darsie, though his parts 
were more quick and brilliant than those of his friend, seemed al- 
ways to the latter a being under his peculiar charge, whom he was 
called upon to cherish and protect in cases where the youth’s own 
experience was unequal to his exigency; and now, when, the fate 
of Latimer seeming worse than doubtful, Alan's whole prudence 
and energy were to be exerted in his behalf, an adventure which 
might have seemed perilous to most youths of his age had no terrors 
for him. He Was well acquainted with the laws of his country, 
and knew how to appeal to them; and, besides his professional con- 
fidence, his natural disposition was steady, sedate, persevering, and 
undaunted. With these requisites he undertook a quest which, at 
that time, was not unattended with actual danger, and had much 
in it to appal a more timid disposition. 

Fairford's first inquiry concerning his friend was of the chief 
magistrate of Dumfries, Provost Crosbie, who had sent the informa- 
tion of Darsie’s disappearance. On his first application, lie thought 
he discerned in the honest dignitary a desire to get rid of the sub- 
ject. The Provost spoke of the riot at the fishing station as an “ out- 
break among those lawless loons the fishermen, which concerned 
the sheriff,” lie said, “ more than us poor Town Council bodies, that 
have enough to do to keep peace within burgh, among such a set 
of commoners as the town is plagued with.” 

“ But this is not all, Provost Crosbie,” said Mr. Alan Fairtord; 
“a young gentleman of rank and fortune has disappeared among 


188 


REDGAUNTJLET. 


their hands— you know him. My father gave him a letter to you — 
Mr. Darsie Latimer.” 

“ Lackaday, yes! lackaday, yes!” said the Provost; “ Mr. Darsie 
Latimer — he dined at my house — 1 hope he is well!” 

”1 hope so, too,” said Alan, rather indignantly; “but 1 desire 
more certainty on that point. Y ou yourself wrote my father that 
he had disappeared.” 

“ Troth yes, and that is true,” said the Provost. “ But did he 
not go back to his friends in Scotland? it was not natural to think 
he would stay here.” 

“ JSot unless he is under restraint,” said Fairford, surprised at 
the coolness with which the Provost seemed to take up the matter. 

“ Rely on it, sir,” said Mr. Crosbie, “ that if he has not returned 
to his friends in Scotland he must have gone to his friends in Eng- 
land.” 

“ 1 will rely on no such thing,” said Alan; “ it there is law or 
justice in Scotland, I will have the thing cleared to the very bot- 
tom.” 

‘‘Reasonable, reasonable,” said the Provost, “ so far as is possible; 
but you know 1 have no power beyond the ports of the burgh.” 

** But you are in the commission besides, Mr. Crosbie; a Justice 
of Peace for the county.” 

“ True, very true — that is,” said the cautious magistrate, “ I will 
not say but my name may stand on the list, but I can not remember 
that 1 have ever qualified.”* 

“ Why, in that case,” said young Fairford, “ there are ill-natured 
people might doubt your attachment to the Protestant line, Mr. 
Crosbie.” 

“God forbid, Mr. Fairford! 1 who have done and suffered in 
the Forty -five. I reckon the Highlandmen did me damage to the 
amount of £100 Scots, forby all they ate and drank— no, no, sir, 1 
stand beyond challenge; but as for plaguing myself with county 
business, let them that aught the mare shoe the mare. The Com- 
missioners of Supply would see my back broken before they would 
help me in the burgh’s work, and all the world kens the difference 
of the weight between public business in burgh and landward. 
What are their riots to me? have we not riots enough of our own? 
But 1 must be getting ready, tor the Council meets this forenoon. 
1 am blithe to see your father’s son on the causeway of our ancient 
burgh. Mr. Alan Fairford. Were you a twelvemonth aulder we 
would make a burgess of you, man. 1 hope you will come and 
dine with me before you go away. What think you of to-day at 
two o’clock— just a roasted chucky and a drappil egg?” 

Alan Fairford resolved that his friend’s hospitality should not, as 
it seemed the inviter intended, put a stop to his queries. “ 1 must 
delay you for a moment,” he said, “ Mr. Crosbie; this is a serious 
affair; a young gentleman of high hopes, my own dearest friend, is 
missing— you can not think it will be passed over slightly, it a man 
of your high character and known zeal for the Government do not 
make some active inquiry. Mr. Crosbie, you are my father’s friend. 


* By taking the oaths to Government. 


UEDGAUNTLET. 


189 


and 1 respect you as such— but to others it will have a bad appear- 
ance.” 

The withers of the Provost were not un wrung; he paced the room 
in much tribulation, repeating, “ But wdiat can 1 do, Mr. Fairford? 
1 warrant your friend casts up again— he will come back again, like 
the ill shilling— he is not the sort of gear that tynes— a hellicat boy, 
running through the country with a blind fiddler, and playing the 
fiddle to a parcel of blackguards, who can tell where the like of him 
may have scampered to?” 

“ There are persons apprehended, and in the jail of the town, as 
I understand from the Sheriff-Substitute,” said Mr. Fairford; “ you 
must call them before you, and inquire what they know of this 
young gentleman.” 

“ Ay, ay — the Sheriff- Depute did commit some poor creatures, 1 
believe— wretched ignorant fishermen bodies, that had been quarrel- 
ing, with Quaker Geddes and his stake- nets, whilk, under favor of 
your gown be it spoken, Mr. Fairford, are not over and above law r - 
ful, and the town clerk thinks that they may be lawfully removed 
via facti — but that is by the bye. But, sir, the creatures were a’ dis- 
missed for want of evidence; the Quaker would not swear to them, 
and what could the sheriff and me do but just let them loose? Come 
awa, cheer up. Master Alan, and take a walk till dinner-time— 1 
must really go to the council.” 

“ Stop a moment, Provost,” said Alan; “ I lodge a complaint be- 
foie you as a magistrate, and you will find it serious to slight it over 
You must have these men apprehended again.” 

‘ Ay, ay — easy said; but catch them that can,” answered the Pro- 
vost; “ they are ower the March by this time, or b} 1, the point of 
Cairn. Lord help ye! they are a kind of amphibious deevils, neither 
land nor water beasts — neither English nor Scots — neither county 
nor stewartry, as we say— they are dispersed like so much quicksil- 
ver. You may as well try to whistle a sealgh out of the Solway, 
as to get hold of one of them till all the fray is over.” 

“ Mr. Crosbie, this will not do,” answered the young counselor; 
“ there is a person of more importance than such wretches as you 
describe concerned in this unhappy business — 1 must name to you 
a certain Mr. Herries.” 

He kept his eye on the Provost as he uttered the name, which he 
did rather at a venture, and from the connection which that gentle-' 
man, and his real or supposed niece, seemed to have with the fate 
of Darsie Latimer, than from any distinct cause of suspicions which 
he entertained. He thought the Provost seemed embarrassed, though 
he showed much desire to assume an appearance of indifference, in 
which he partly succeeded. 

“Herries!” he said— “ what Herries? There are many of that 
name — not so many as formerly, for the old stocks are wearing out: 
but there is Herries of Heathgill, and Herries of Aucliintullock and 
Herries — ” 

“ To save you further trouble, this person’s designation is Herries 
of Birrenswork.” 

“Of Birrenswork?” said Mr. Crosbie; “1 have you now, Mr. 
Alan. Could you not as well have said, the Laird of Redgauntlet?” 

Fairford was loo weary lo testify any surprise at this identification 


190 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


•of names, however unexpected. “ 1 thought,” said he, ** he was 
more generally known by the name of flerries. I have seen and 
been in company with him under that name, 1 am sure.” 

“ O ay; in Edinburgh, belike. You know Redgauntlet was un- 
fortunate a great while ago, and though he was may be not deeper 
in the mire than other folk, yet, for some reason or other, he did 
not get so easily out.” 

“He was attainted, 1 understand; and has no remission,” said 
Fairford. 

The cautious Provost only nodded, and said, “ Y r ou may guess, 
therefore, why it is so convenient he should hold his mother’s name, 
which is also partly his own, when he is about Edinburgh. To 
bear his proper name might be accounted a kind of flying in the face 
of government, ye understand. But he has been long connived at — 
tlie^story is an old story — and the gentleman has many excellent 
qualities, and is of a very ancient and honorable house— has cousins 
among the great folk— counts kin with the advocate and w T ith the 
sheriff— hawks, you know, Mr. Alan, will not pike out hawks’ een 
—he is widely connected — my wife is a fourth cousin of Redgaunt- 
let’s.” 

Mine illce lachrymal thought Alan Fairford to himself; but the 
hint presently determined him to proceed by soft means and with 
caution. “I beg you to understand,” said Fairford, ‘ £ that in the 
investigation 1 am about to make, 1 design no harm to Mr. Berries 
or Redgauntlet — call him what you will. All 1 wish is, to ascertain 
the safety of my friend. 1 know that he was rather foolish in once 
going upon a mere frolic, in disguise, to the neighborhood of this 
same gentleman’s house. In his circumstances, Mr. Redgauntlet 
may have misinterpreted the motives, and considered Darsie Lati- 
mer as a spy. His influence, 1 believe, is great among the disorderly 
people you spoke of but now?” 

The Provost answered with another sagacious shake of his head, 
that would have done honor to Lord Burleigh in the Critic. 

“ Well, then,” continued Fairford, ‘‘is it not possible that, in the 
mistaken belief that Mr. Latimer was a spy, he may, upon such 
suspicion, have caused him to be carried off and confined some- 
where? Such things are done at elections, and on occasions less 
pressing than when men think their lives are in danger from an in- 
former.” 

‘‘Mr. Fairford,” said the Provost, very earnestly, ‘‘I scarcely 
think such a mistake possible, or if, by any extraordinary chance, 
it should have taken place, Redgauntlet, whom 1 can not but know 
well, being, as 1 have said, my wife’s flist cousin (fourth cousin, 1 
should say), is altogether incapable of doing anything harsh to the 
young gentleman— he might send him ower to Ailsa for a night or 
two, or may be land him on the north coast of Ireland, or in Islay, 
or some of the Hebrides; but, depend upon it, he is ffreapablo of 
harming a hair of his head.” 

“ I am determined not to trust to that, Provost,” answered Fair- 
lord, firmly; “ and 1 am a good deal surprised at your way of talk- 
ing so lightly of such an aggression on the liberty of the subject. 
You are to consider, and Mr. Herries or Mr. Kedgauntlet’s friends 
would do very well also to consider, how T it would sound in the ears 


REDGAUNTLET. 


191 


of an English Secretary of State, That an attainted traitor (for such 
is this gentleman) has not only ventured to take up his abode in tins 
realm— against the king of which he has been in arms— but is sus- 
pected of having proceeded, by open force and violence, against the 
person of one of the lieges, a young man who is neither without 
friends nor property to secure his being righted.” 

The Provost looked at the young counselor with a face in which 
distrust, alarm, and vexation seemed mingled, “ A fashious job,” 
he said at last, *' a fashious job, and it will be dangerous meddling 
with it. 1 should like ill to see your father’s son turn informer 
against an unfortunate gentleman.” 

“ Neither do I mean it,” answered Alan, “ provided that unfort- 
unate gentleman and his friends give me a quiet opportunity of se- 
curing my friend’s safety. If I could speak with Mr. Redgauntlet, 
and bear his own explanation, 1 should probably be satisfied. If X 
am forced to denounce him to Government, it will be in his new 
capacity of a kidnapper. 1 may not be able, nor is it my business, 
to prevent his being recognised in his former character of an at- 
tainted person, excepted from the general pardon.” 

” Master Fairford,” said the Provost, ” would ye ruin the poor 
innocent gentleman on an idle suspicion!” 

“Say no more of it, Mr. Crosbie; my line of conduct is deter- 
mined— unless that suspicion is removed.” 

“ Well, sir,” said the Provost, “ since so it be, and since you say 
that you do not ask to harm Redgaunllet personally, I’ll ask a man 
to dine with us to-day that kens as much about his matters as most 
folk. You must think, Mr. Alan Fairford. though Redgauntlet be 
my wife’s near relative, and though, doubtless, I wish him weel, yet 
1 am not the person who is like to be intrusted with his incomings 
and outgoings. 1 am not a man for that — 1 keep the kirk, and 1 
abhor Popery — 1 have stood up for the House of Hanover, and for 
liberty and property— 1 carried arms, sir, against the Pretender 
when three of the Highlandmen’s baggage-carts -were stopped at 
Ecclefechan; and 1 had an especial loss of a hundred pounds—” 

“ Scots,” interrupted Fairford. “ You forget you told me all 
this before.” 

“ Scots or English, it was top much for me to lose,” said the 
Provost; “ so you see 1 am not a person to pack or peel with Jaco- 
bites, and such unfreemen as poor Redgauntlet.” 

“ Granted, granted, Mr. Crosbie; and what then?” said Alan 
Fairford. 

“ Why, then, it follows, that if 1 am to help you at this pinch, it 
can not be by and through my ain personal knowledge, but through 
some fitting agent or third nerson. ” 

“ Giantcciagain,” said Mirford. “ And pray who may this third 
person be?”rv 

“Who hut Pate Maxwell of Summertrees— him they call Pate-in- 
Peril.” , 

“An old Forty-five man, of course!” said Fairford. 

“ Ye may swear that,” replied the Provost— “ as black a Jacobite 
as the auld leaven can make him; but a sonsy merry companion, 
that none of us think it worth wdiile to break wi’ for all his brags 
and his clavers. You would have thought, if he had had but his own 


REDGAUNTLET. 


192 

■way at Derby, lie would have marched Charlie Sluart througn be- 
tween Wade and the duke, as a thread goes through the needle’s ee, 
and seated him in Saint James’s before you could have said, baud 
your hand. But though he is a windy body when he gets on his auld 
warld stories, he has mair gumption in him than most people — 
knows business, Mr. Alan, being bred to the law; but never took 
the gown, because of the oaths, which kept more folk out then than 
they do now— the more’s the pity.” 

“ What! are you sorry, Provost, that Jacobitism is upon the de- 
cline?” said Fairford. 

“ No, no,” answered the Provost — “ lam only sorry for folks los- 
ing the tenderness of conscience which they used to have. I have a 
son breeding to the bar, Mr. Fairfoid; and, no doubt, considering 
my services and sufierings, 1 might have looked for some bit posiie 
to him, but if the muckle tikes come in — 1 mean a' these Maxwells, 
and Oohnstones, and great lairds, that the oaths used to keep out 
lang syne — the bits o’ messan dogies, like my son, and may be like 
your father's son, Mr. Alan, will be sair put to the wall.” 

“ But to return to the subject, Mr. Crosbie, ’ said Fairford, “ do 
you really think it likely that this Mr. Maxwell will be of service in 
this matter?” 

“ It’s very like he may be, for he is the tongue of the trump to 
the whole squad of them,” said the Provost; ‘‘and Redgauntlet, 
though he will not stick at times to call him a fool, takes more of 
his counsel than any man’s else that 1 am aware of. If Pate can 
bring him to a communing, the business is done, lie’s a sharp chield, 
Pale-in-Peril 

” Pate-in-Peril!” repeated Alan; “ a very singular name.” 

“ Ay, and it was in as queer a way he got it; but I’ll say naeth- 
ing about that,” said the Provost, “ tor fear of forestalling his mar- 
ket; for ye are sure to hear it once at least, however oftener, before 
the punch-bowl gives place to the tea-pot. And now, fare ye well; 
for there is the council-bell clinking in earnest; and if 1 am not 
there before it jows in, Bailie Laurie will be trying some of his 
maneuvers.” 

The Provost, repeating liis expectation of seeing Mr. Fairford at 
two o’clock, at length effected his escape from the young counselor, 
.and left him at a considerable loss how to proceed. The sheriff, it 
seems, bad returned to Edinburgh, and he feared to find the visible 
repugnance of the Provost to interfere with this Laird of Birrens- 
work, or Redgauntlet, much stronger amongst the couutry gentle- 
men. many of whom were Catholics as well as Jacobites, and most 
others unwilling to quarrel with kinsmen and friends, hy prose- 
cuting with severity political offenses which had almost run a pre- 
scription. 

To collect all the information in his power, and not to have 
recourse to the higher authorities until he could give all the light of 
which the case was capable, seemed the wiser proceeding in a choice 
of difficulties. lie had some conversation with the procurator fiscal, 
who, as well as the Provost, was an old correspondent of his father! 
Alan expressed to that officer a purpose of visiting Brokenburu, but 
was assured by him that it would be a step attended with much 
danger to his own person, and altogether fruitless; that the indi- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


193 


viduals who had been ringleaders in the riot were long since safely 
sheltered in their various lurking-holes in the Isle of Man, Cumber- 
land, and elsewhere: and that those who might remain would un- 
doubtedly commit violence on any who visited their settlement with 
the purpose of inquiring into the late disturbances. 

There were not the same objections to his hastening to Mount 
Sharon, where he expected to find the latest news of his friend, and 
there was time enough to do so before the hour appointed for the 
Provost’s dinner. Upon the road he congratulated himself on hav- 
ing obtained one point of almost certain information. The person 
who had in a manner forced himself upon his father’s hospitality, 
and had appeared desirous to induce Darsie Latimer to visit Eng- 
land, against whom, too, a soil of warning had been received from 
an individual connected with and residing in his own faniily, proved 
to be a promoter of the disturbance in which Darsie had disap- 
peared. 

What could be the cause of such an attempt on the liberty of an 
inoffensive and amiable man? It was impossible it could be merely 
owing to Redgaunt let’s mistaking Darsie for a spy; for though that 
was the solution which Fairford had offered to the Provost, he well 
knew that, in point of fact, he himself had been warned by his 
singular visitor of some danger to which his friend was exposed, be- 
fore such suspicion could have been entertained; and the injunc- 
tions received by Latimer from Ins guardian, or him who acted as 
such, Mr. Giifflths of London, pointed to the same thing. He was 
rather glad, however, that ne had not let Provost Crosbie into his 
secret further than was absolutely necessary; since it was plain that 
the connection of his wife with the suspected party was likely to 
affect his impartiality as a magistrate. 

W hen Alan Fairford arrived at Mount Sharon, Rachel Geddes 
hastened to meet him, almost before the servant could open the 
door. She drew back in' disappointment when she beheld a stranger, 
and said, to excuse her precipitation, that “ she had thought it was 
her brother Joshua returned from Cumberland.” 

“ Mr. Geddes is then absent from home?” said Fairford, much 
disappointed in his turn. 

“ He hath been gone since yesterday, friend,” answered Rachel, 
once more composed to the quietude which characterizes her sect, 
but her pale cheek and red eye giving contradiction to her assumed 
equanimity. 

“ I am,” said Fairford hastily, ” the particular friend of a young 
man not unknown to you, Miss Geddes— the friend of Darsie Lati- 
mer— and am come hither in the utmost anxiety, having understood 
from Provost Crosbie that he had disappeared in tire night when a 
destructive attack was made upon the fishing-station of Mr. 
Geddes.” 

“ Thou dost afflict me, friend, by thy inquiries,” said Rachel, 
more affected than before; “ for although the youth was like those 
of the worldly generation, wise in his own conceit, aud lightly to 
be moved by the breath of vanity, yet Joshua loved him, and his 
heart clave to him as if he had been his own son. And when he 
himself escaped from the sons of Belial, which was not until they 
had tired themselves with reviling, and with idle reproach, and the 
7 


194 


REDGAUNTLET. 


jests of the scoffer, Joshua, my brother, returned to them once and 
again, to give ransom for the youth called Darsie Latimer, with 
offers of money and with promise of remission, but they would not 
hearken to him. Also, he went before the Head Judge, whom men 
call the sheriff, and would have told him of the youth's peril; but 
he would in no way hearken to him unless he would swear unto the 
truth of his words, which thing he might not do without sin, seeing 
it is written, Swear not at all — also, .that our conversation shall be 
yea or nay. Therefore, Joshua returned to me disconsolate, and 
said, ‘Sister Rachel, this youth hath run into peril for my sake; 
assuredly 1 shall not be guiltless if a hair of his head be harmed, 
seeing 1 have sinned in permitting him to go with me to the fish- 
ing-station when such evil was to lie feared. Therefore, I will take 
my horse, even Solomon, and ride swiftly into Cumberland, and I 
will make myself friends with Mammon of Unrighteousness, among 
the magistrates of the Gentiles, and amoDg their mighty men ; and 
it shall come to pass that Darsie Latimer shall be delivered, even if 
it w r ere at the expense of half my substance.’ And 1 said, ‘ -Nay, 
my brother, go not, for they will but scoff at and revile thee; but 
hire with thy silver one of the scribes, who are eager as hunters in 
pursuing their prey, and he shall free Darsie Latimer from the men 
of violence by his cunning, and thy soul shall be guiltless of evil 
toward the lad.’ But he answ r ered and said, ‘ 1 will not be con- 
trolled in this matter.’ And he is gone forth, and hath not returned, 
and 1 tear me that he may never return; for though he be peaceful, 
as becometli one who holds all violence as offense against his own 
soul, yet neither the floods of water, nor the fear of the scare, nor 
the drawn sword of the adversary brandished in the path, will over- 
come his purpose. Wherefore, the Solway may swallow him up, 
or the sword of the enemy may devour him — nevertheless, my hope 
is better in Him who directuth all things, and ruleth over the waves 
of the sea, and overruleth the devices of the wicked, and who can 
redeem us even as a bird from the fowler’s net.” 

This was all that Fairford could learn from Miss Geddes; but he 
heard with pleasure that the good Quaker, her brother, had many 
friends among those of his ow T n profession in Cumberland, and 
without exposing himself to so much danger as his sister seemed to 
apprehend, he trusted he might be able to discover some traces of 
Darsie Latimer. He himself rode back to Dumfries, having left 
with Miss Geddes his direction in that place, and an earnest request 
that she would forward thither whatever information she might ob- 
tain from her brother. 

On Fairford’s return to Dumfries, he employed the brief interval 
which remained before dinner-time, in writing an account of what 
had befallen Latimer, and of the present- uncertainty of his con- 
dition, to Mr. Samuel Griffiths, through w T hose hands the remittances 
for his friend’s service had been regularly' made, desiring he w r ould 
instantly acquaint him with such parts of his history as might 
direct him in the search which he was about to institute through 
the border counties, and w^hicli he pledged himself not to* give up 
until he had obtained news of his friend, alive or dead. The 3 r oung 
lawyer’s mind felt easier when he had dispatched this letter. He 
could not conceive any reason why his friend’s life should be aimed 


REDGAUNTLET. 


195 


at; he knew Darsie had done nothing by which his liberty could be 
legally affected; and although, even ot late years, there had been 
singular histories of men, and women also, who had been trepanned, 
and concealed in solitudes and distant islands, in order to serve some 
temporary purpose, such violences had been chiefly practiced by the 
rich on the poor, and by the strong on the feeble; whereas, in the 
present case, this Mr, Herries, or Redgauntlet, being amenable, for 
more reasons than one, to the censure of the law, must be the 
weakest in any struggle in which it could be appealed to. It is true 
that his friendly anxiety whispered that the very cause which ren- 
dered this oppressor less formidable, might make him more desper- 
ate. Still, recalling his language, so strikingly that of the gentle- 
man, and even ot the man ot honor, Alan Fairford concluded, that 
though, in his feudal pride, Redgauntlet might venture on the deeds 
of violence exercised by the aristocracy in other times, he could not 
be capable of any action of deliberate atrocity. And in these con- 
victions he went to dine with Provost Crosbie with a heart more at 
ease than might have been expected.* 


CHAPTER XI. 

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED. 

Five minutes had elapsed after the town-clock struck two before 
Alan Fairford, who had made a small detour to put his letter into 
the post-house, reached the mansion ot Mr. Provost Crosbie, and 
was at once greeted by the voice of that civil dignitary, and the 
rural dignitary his visitor, as by the voices of men impatient for their 
dinner. 

“ Come away, Mr. Fairford — the Edinburgh time is later than 
ours,” said the Provost. 

And, “ Come away, young gentleman,” said the laird; “ I re- 
member your father weel at the Cross, thirty years ago. 1 reckon 
you are as late in Edinburgh as at London, four o’clock hours — 
eh?” 

“ Not quite so degenerate,” replied Fairford, “ but certainly 
many Edinbuigli people are so ill advised as to postpone their din- 
ner till three, that they maj^ have full time to answer their London 
correspondents.” 

“ London correspondents!” said Mr. Maxwell; ** and pray, what 


* Scotland, in its half-civilized state, exhibited too many examples of the ex- 

ertion of arbitrary force and violence, rendered easy by the dominion which 
lairds exerted over their tenants, and chiefs over their clans The captivity of 
Lady Grange in the desolate cliffs of Saint Kilda is in the recollection of every 
one. At the supposed date of the novel, also, a man of the name of Merrilees, a 
tanner in Leith, absconded from his country to escape his creditors; and after 
having slain his own mastiff dog, and put a piece of red cloth in its mouth, as if 
it had died in a contest with soldiers, and involved his own existence in as much 
mystery as possible, made his escape into Yorkshire. Here he was detected by 
persons sent in search of him, to whom he gave a portentous account of his 
having been carried off and concealed in various places. Mr. Merrilees was, in 
short, a kind of male Elizabeth Canning, but did not trespass on the public 
credulity quite so long. 


196 


REDGAUNTLET. 


the devil have the people of Auld Reekie to do with London corre- 
spondents?”* 

“ The tradesmen must have their goods,” said Fairford. 

“ Can they not buy our own Scottish manufactures, and pick 
their customers’ pockets in a more patriotic manner?” 

“ Then the lad*ies must have fashions,” said Fairford. 

“ Can they not busk the plaid over their heads, as their mothers 
did? A tartan screen, and once a year a new cockernony from 
Paris, should serve a countess. But ye have not many of them left, 
1 think — Mareschal, Adrley, W inton, Wemyss, Balmerino, all passed 
and gone— ay, ay, the countess and ladies of quality will scarce take 
up too much of your ball-room floor with their quality hoops nowa- 
days.” 

‘‘There is no want of crowding, howevei, sir,” said Fairford; 
“ they begin to talk of a new Assembly Room.” 

“ A new Assembly Room!” said the old Jacobite laird. “ Umpli 
— 1 mind quartering three hundred men in the old Assembly Room.f 
But come, come — I’ll ask no more questions— the answers all 
smell of new lords, new lands, and do but spoil my appetite, which 
were a pity, since here comes Mrs. Crosbie to say our mutton’s 
ready.” 

It was even so. Mrs. Crosbie had been absent, like Eve, “ on 
hospitable cares intent,” a duty which she did not conceive herself 
exempted from, either by the dignity of her husband’s rank in the 
municipality, or the splendor of her Brussels silk gown, or even by 
the more highly prized luster of her birth; for she was born a Max- 
well, and allied, as her husband often informed his friends, to 
several of the first families in the county. She had been handsome, 
and was still a portly good-looking woman of her years; and though 
her peer into the kitchen had somewhat heightened her complexion* 
it was no more than a modest touch of rouge might have done. 

The Provost was certainly proud of his lady, nay, some said he 
was afraid of her; lor, of the females of the Redgauntlet family 
there went a rumor, that, ally where they would, there was a gray 
mare as surely in the stables of their husbands, as there is a white 
horse in Wouverman’s pictures. The good dame, too, w r as sup- 
posed to have brought a spice of politics into Mr. Crosbie’s house- 
hold along with her; and the Provost’s enemies at the Council- 
table of the burgh used to observe, that he uttered there many a 
bold harangue against the Pretender, and in favor of King George 
and Government, of which he dared not have pronounced a syllable 
in his own bedchamber; and that, in fact, his wife’s predominating 
influence had now and then occasioned his acting, or forbearing to 
act, in a manner very different from his general professions of zeal 
for Revolution principles. If this was in any respect true, it was 
certain, on the other hand, that Mrs. Crosbie, in all external points, 

* Not much in those days, for within my recollection the London post was 
brought north in a small mail-cart; and men are yet alive who recollect when 
it came down with only one single letter for Edinburgh, addressed to the man- 
ager of the British Linen Company. 

+ I remember hearing this incidental answer given by an old Highland gen- 
tleman of the Forty-five, when he heard of the opening of the New Assembly 
Rooms in George Street. 


KEPGAUNTLET. 


19 ? 

seemed to acknowledge the “lawful sway and right supremacy” 
ot the head of the house, and it she did not in truth reverence her 
husband, she at least seemed to do so. 

This stately dame received Mr. Maxwell (a cousin of course) with 
cordiality, and Fairford with civility; answering at the same time 
with respect, to the magisterial complaints of the Provost, that 
dinner was just coming up. “ But since you changed poor Peter 
MacAlpin, that used to take care of the town-clock, my dear, it has 
never gone well a single day.” 

“Peter MacAlpin, my dear,” said the Provost, “ made himself 
too busy for a person in office, and drank healths and so forth, 
which it became no man to drink or to pledge, tar less one that is 
in point ot office a servant of the public. 1 understand that he lost 
the music bells in Edinburgh, tor playing ‘ Ower the Water to 
Charlie,’ upon the 10th of June. He is a black sheep, and deserves 
no encouragement.” 

“Not a bad tune though, after all,” said Summertrees; and, 
turning to the window, he half hummed, half whistled, the air in 
question, then sung the last verse aloud: 

“ Oh, I loe weel my Charlie’s name, 

Though some there be that abhor him j 
; But, oh, to. see the deil gang hame 

Wi 1 a 1 the Whigs before him ! 

Over the water, and over the sea, 

And over the water to Charlie; 

Come weal, come woe, we’ll gather and go, 

And live or die with Charlie.” 

Mrs. Crosbie smiled furtively on the laird, wearing an aspect 
at the same time of deep submission; while the Provost, not choos- 
ing to hear his visitor’s ditty, took a turn through the room, in un- 
questioned dignity and independence of authority. 

“ Aweel, a weel, my dear,” said the lady, with a quiet smile of 
submission, “ ye ken these matters best, and you will do your pleas- 
ure— they are far above my hand — only, 1 doubt if ever the town- 
clock will go right, or your meals be got up so regular as I should 
wish, till Peter MacAlpin gets his office back again. The body’s 
auld, and can neither work nor want, but he is the only hand to 
set a clock.” 

It may be noticed in passing, that, notwithstanding this predic- 
tion, which, probably, the fair Cassandra had the full means of ac- 
complishing, it was not till the second council-day thereafter that 
the misdemeanors of the Jacobite clock -keeper were passed over, 
and he was once more restored to his occupation of fixing the town’s 
time, and the Provost’s dinner-hour. 

Upon the present occasion the dinner passed pleasantly away. 
Summertrees talked and jested with the easy indifference of a man 
who holds himself superior to his company. He was indeed an 
important person, as was testified by his poitly appearance; his hat 
laced with point d'Espcigne ; his coat and waistcoat once richly em- 
broidered, though now almost threadbare; the splendor of his soli- 
taire, and laced ruffles, though the first was sorely creased, and the 
other sullied; not to forget the length of his silver-hilted rapier. 
His wit, or rather humor, bordered on the sarcastic, and intimated 
a discontented man; and although he showed no displeasure when 


REDGAUNTLET. 


198 

the Provost attempted a repartee, yet it seemed that he permitted it 
upon mere sufferance, as a fencing-master, engaged with a pupil, 
will sometimes permit the tyro to hit him, solely by way of encour- 
agement. The laird’s own jests, in the meanwhile, were eminently 
successful, not only with the Provost and his lady, but with the 
red-cheeked and red-ribboned servant-maid who waited at table, 
and who could scarce perlorm her duiy with propriety, so effectual 
were the explosions of Summertrees. Alan Fairford alone was un- 
moved among all this mirth; which was the less wonderful that, 
besides the important subject which occupied his thoughts, most of 
the laird’s good things consisted in sly allusions to little parochial or 
family incidents, with which the Edinburgh visitor was totally un- 
acquainted: so that the laughter of the party sounded in bis ear like 
the idle crackling of thorns under the pot, with this difference, that 
they did not accompany or second any such useful operation as the 
boiling thereof. 

Fairford was glad when the cloth was withdrawn; and when 
Provost Crosbie (tint without some points of advice from his lady, 
touching the precise mixture of the ingredients) had accomplished 
the compounding of a noble bowl of punch, at which the old Jaco- 
bite’s eyes seemed to glisten, the glasses were pushed round it, 
filled, and withdrawn each by its owner, when the Provost em- 
phatically named the toast, “ The King,’’ with an important look 
to Fairford, which seemed to say, You can have no doubt whom 1 
mean, and therefore there is no’occasion to particularize the indi- 
vidual. 

Summertrees repeated the toast, with a sly wink to the lady,, while 
Fairford drank his glass in silence. 

“ AY ell, young advocate,” said the landed proprietor, “ 1 am glad 
to see there is some shame, if there is little honesty, left in the 
Faculty. Some of your black-gowns, nowadays, have as little of 
the one as of the other.” 

“ At least, sir,” replied Mr. Fairford, “ I am so much of a law- 
yer as not willingly to enter into disputes which 1 am not retained 
to support — it would be but throwing away both time and argu- 
ment.” 

“ Come, come,” said the lady, “ we will have no argument in 
this house about Whig or Tory — the Provost kens what lie maun 
my, and 1 ken what he should think ; and for a’ that has come and 
gane yet, there may be a time coming when honest men may say 
what they think, whether they be Provosts or not.” 

“D’ye hear that, Provost?” said Summertrees; “your wife’s a 
witch, man; you should nail a horse-shoe on your chamber door — 
Ha, ha, ha!” 

This sally did not take quite so well as former efforts of the laird’s 
wit. The lady drew up, and the Provost said, half aside, “The 
sooth bourd is nae bourd.* You will find the horseshoe hissing 
hot, Summertrees,” 

“ You can speak from experience, doubtless, Provost,” answered 
Ihe laird; “but 1 crave pardou — I need not tell Mrs. Crosbie that 
1 have all respect fortheauld and honorable House of Redgauntlet.” 


* The true joke is no joke. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


199 

“ And good reason ye have, that are sae sib to them,” quoth the 
lady, “ and kend weel baith them that are here and them that are 
gane.” 

“In troth, and ye may say sae, madam,” answered the laird; 
“ tor poor Harry Kedgauntlet, that suffered at Carlisle, was hand 
and glove with me; and yet we parted <>n>hort leave-taking.” 

“ Ay, Summertrees,” said the Provost; “ than was when you 
played Cheat-the-woodie, and gat the by-name ot Pate- in-Peril. I 
wish you would tell the story to my young friend here. He likes- 
weel to hear of a sharp trick, as most lawyers do.” 

“1 wonder at your want of circumspection, Provost,” said the 
laird— much after the manner of a singer when declining to sing 
the song that is quivering upon his tongue's very end. “ Ye should 
mind there are some auld stories that can not be ripped up again 
with entire safety to all concerned. Tace is Latin for a candle/’ 

“ 1 hope,” said the lady, “ you are not afraid of anything being 
said out of this house to your prejudice, Summertrees? 1 have 
heard the story before; but the oftener 1 hear it the more wonder- 
ful I think it.” 

“ Yes, madam; but it has been now a wonder of more than nine 
days, and it is time it should be ended,” answered Maxwell. 

Fairtord now thought it civil to say, “ that he had often heard of 
Mr. Maxwell’s wonderful escape, and that nothing could be more 
agreeable to him than to hear the right version of’ it.” 

But Summertrees was obdurate, and refused to take up the time 
of the company with such “ auld warld nonsense, ” 

“ Weel, weel,” said the Provost, “ a willful, man maun hae his 
way. What do your folk in the country think about the disturb- 
ances that are beginning to spunk out in the colonies?” 

“ Excellent, sir, excellent. When things come to the worst they 
will mend; and to the worst they are coming. But as to that non- 
sense ploy of mine, if ye insist on hearing the particulars ’’—said 
the laird, who began to be sensible that the period of telling his 
story gracefully was gliding fast away. 

“'Nay,” said the Provost, “ it was not for myself, but this young 
gentleman.” 

“ Aweel, what for should I not pleasure the young gentleman? 
I’ll just drink to honest folk at hame and abroad, and deil ane else. 
And then — but you have heard it before, Mrs. Crosbie?” 

“ Not so often as to think it tiresome, I assure ye,” said the lady; 
and. without further preliminaries, the laird addressed Alan Fair- 
ford 

“ Ye have heard of a year they called the forty-five, young gentle- 
man ; when the Southrons’ heads made their last acquaintance with 
Scottish claymores? There was a set of rampauging chields in the 
country then that they called rebels— 1 never could find out what 
for. Some men should have been wi’ them that never came, Pro- 
vost— Skye and the Bush aboon Traquair for that, ye ken. Weel, 
the job was settled at last. Clouted crowns were plenty, and raxed 
necks came into fashion. 1 dinna mind very weel what 1 was 
doing, swaggering about the country with dirk and pistol at my 
belt tor five or six months or thereaway; but 1 had a weary waking 
out ot a wild dream. Then did 1 find myself on loot in a misty 


200 


IiEDGAlTNTLET. 


morning, with my hand, just for fear of going astray, linked into a 
handcuff, as they call it, with poor Harry Redgauntlet’s fastened 
into the other; and there we were, trudging along, with about a 
score more that had thrust their horns owei deep in the bog, just like 
ourselves, and a sergeant’s^guard of red-coats, svith twa file of dra- 
goons, to keep all quiet, and give us heart to the road. How, if this 
mode of traveling was not very pleasant, the object did not partic- 
ularly recommend it; for, you understand, young man, that they 
did not trust these poor rebel bodies to be tried by juries of their ain 
kindly countrymen, though ane would have thought they would 
have found Whigs enough in Scotland to hang us all; but they be- 
hooved to trounce us away to be tried at Carlisle, where the folk had 
been so frightened, that, had you brought a whole Highland clan 
at once into the court, they would have put their hands upon their 
een, and cried, ‘ Hang them a’,’ just to be quit of them.” 

“ Ay, ay,” said the Provost, “ that was a snell law, I grant ye.” 

“ Snell!” said the wife, “ snell! 1 wish they that passed it had 
the jury I would recommend them to!” 

“I suppose the young lawyer thinks it all very right,” said 
Summertrees, looking at Fairford — “an old lawyer might have 
thought otherwise,. However, the cudgel was to be found to beat 
the dog. and they chose a heavy one. Well, I kept my spirits bet- 
ter than my companion, poor fellow; lor 1 had the luck to have 
neither wife nor child to think about, and Harry Redgauntlet had 
both one and t’other. You have seen Harry, Mrs. Crosbie?” 

‘‘ In troth have 1,” said she, with the sigh which we give to early 
recollections, of which the object is no more. “ He was not so tall 
as his brother, and a gentler lad every way. After he married the 
great English fortune, folk called him less of a Scotlishman than 
Edward.” 

“ Folk lee’d, then,” said Summertrees, ” poor Harry was none of 
your bold-speaking, ranting reivers, that talk about what they did 
yesterday, or what they will do to-morrow; it was when something 
was to do at the moment that you should have looked at Harry 
Redgauntlet. 1 saw him at Culloden, when all was lost, doing 
more than twenty of these bleezing braggarts till the very soldiers 
that took him cried not to hurt him — for all somebody’s orders, 
Provost — for he was the bravest fellow of them all. Weel, as 1 
went by the side of Harry, and felt him raise my hand up in the 
mist of the morning, as if he wished to wipe his eye — for he had 
not that freedom without my leave— my very heart was like to break 
for him, poor fellow. In the meanwhile I had been trying and try- 
ing to make my hand as fine as a lady’s, to see it 1 could slip it out 
of my iron wristband. Y'ou may think,” he said, laying his broad 
bony hand on the table, “ 1 had work enough with such a shoulder- 
of-mutton fist; but if you observe, the shackle-bones are of the 
largest, and so they were obliged to keep the handcuff wide; at 
length 1 got my hand slipped out, and slipped in again; and Harry 
was sae deep in his ain thoughts, 1 could not make him sensible 
what I was doing.” 

“ Why not?” said Alan Fairford, for whom the tale began to 
have some interest. 

“ Because there was an unchancy, beast of a dragoon riding close 


REDGAUNTLET. 


201 

beside us on the other side; and if 1 had let him into my confidence 
as well as Harry, it would not have been long before a pistol-ball 
slapped through my bonnet. Well, 1 had little for it but to do the 
best 1 could for myself ; and, by my conscience, it was time, when 
the gallows was staring me in the face. We were to halt for break- 
fast at Moffat. Well did 1 know the moors we were marching 
over, having hunted and hawked on every acre of ground in very 
different times. So 1 waited, you see, till 1 was on the edge of 
Errickstanebiae. Ye ken the place they call the Marquis’s Beef- 
stand, because the Annandale loons used to put their stolen cattle 
in there?” 

Fairford intimated his ignorance. 

“ Ye must have seen it as ye came this way; it looks as if tour 
hills were laying their heads together, to shut out daylight from 
the dark hollow space between them. A d d deep, black, black- 

guard-looking abyss of a hole it is, and goes straight down from the 
roadside, as perpendicular as it can do to a heathery brae. At the 
bottom there is a small bit of a brook that you would think could 
hardly find its way out from the hills that are so closely jammed 
round it.” 

“ A bad pass, indeed,” said Alan, 

“ You may say that.” continued the laird. 44 Bad as it was, sir, 
it was my only chance; and though my very flesh oreeped when I 
thought what a rumble 1 was going to get, yet 1 kept my heart up 
all the same. And so, just when we came on the edge of this Beef- 
stand of the Johnstones, 1 slipped out my hand from the handcuff, 
cried to Harry Gauntlet, 4 Follow me!’ — whisked under the belly of 
the dragoon horse— flung my plaid round me with the speed oi light- 
ning — threw myself ou my side, for there was no keeping my feet, 
and down the brae hurled 1, over heather and tern, and blackber- 
ries, like a barrel down Chalmer s Close in Auld Reekie. G , 

sir, 1 never could help laughing when 1 think how the scoundrel 
redcoats must have been bumbazed: for the mist being, as 1 said, 
thick, they had little notion, 1 take it, that they were on the verge 
of such a dilemma. 1 was half way down— for rowing is faster 
walk than rinning— ere they could get at their arms, and then it 
was flash, flash, flash — rap, rap, rap — from the edge of the road; 
but my head was too jumbled to think anything either of that oi 
the hard knocks I got among the stones. 1 kept my senses the- 
gither, whilk has been thought wonderful by all that ever saw the 
place; and 1 helped myself with my hands a? gallantly as 1 could, 
and to the bottom 1 came. There 1 lay for half a moment; but the 
thoughts of a gallows is worth all the salts and scent bottles in the 
world, for bringing a man to himself. Up 1 sprung, like a four- 
year-auld colt. All the hills were spinning round with me, like so 
many great big humming-tops. But there was nae time to think of 
that neither; more especially as the mist had risen a little with the fir- 
ing. I could see the villains, like sae mony craws on the edge of 
the brae; and 1 reckon that they saw me; for some of the loons 
were beginning to crawl down the hill, but likerauld wives, in their 
red cloaks, coming frae a field-preaching, than such a souple lad as 
1 was. ■ Accordingly, they soon began to stop and load their pieces. 
Good e’en to you, gentlemen, thought 1, if that is to be the gate of 


202 


REDGAUNTLET. 


it,. If you have any further word with me, you maun come as far 
as Cairiefraw-gauns. And so off 1 set, and never buck went faster 
ovver the braes tliau I did; and 1 never stopped till I had put three 
waters, reasonably deep, as the season was rainy, half a dozen 
mountains, and a few thousand acres of the worst moss and ling in 
Scotland, betwixt me and my friends the redcoats.” 

“ It was that job which got you the name of Pate-in-Peril,” said 
the Provost, filling the glasses, and exclaiming with grpat emphasis, 
while his guest, much animated with the recollections which the 
exploit excited, looked round with an air of triumph for sympathy 
and applause — “ Here is to .your good health; and may you never 
put your neck in such a venture again.” * 

‘‘Humph! — 1 do not know.” answered Summertrees. ”1 am 
not like to be tempted with another opportunity.! Yet who knows?” 
And then he made a deep pause. 

“ May I ask what became of your friend, sir?” said Alan Fair- 
ford. 

“ Ah, poor Harry!” said Summertrees. '* I’ll tell you what, sir, 
it takes time to make up one’s mind to such a venture, as my friend 
the Provost calls it; and 1 was told by Neil Maclean— who was next 
file to us, but had the luck to escape the gallows by some sleight-of- 
hand trick or other — that, upon my breaking off, poor Harry stood 
like one motionless, although all our brethren in captivity made as 
much tumult as they could, to distract the attention of the soldiers. 

And run he did at last; but he did not know the ground, and 
either from confusion, or because he judged the descent altogether 
perpendicular, he fled up the hill to the left, instead of going down 
at once, and so was easily pursued and taken. If he had lollowed 
my example, he would have found enough among the shepherds to 
hide him, and feed him, as they did me, on bearmeal scones and 
braxy mutton,! till better days came round again.” 

” He suffered then for his share in the insurrection?” said Alan. 

“ You may swear that,” said Summertrees. “ His blood was too 
red to be spared when that sort of paint was in request. He suf- 
fered, sir, as you call it— that is, he was murdered in cold blood, 
with many a pretty fellow besides. Well, we may have our day 
next— what is fristed is not forgiven— they think us all dead and 
buried— but — ” Here he filled his glass, and muttering some in- 

* The escape of a Jacobite gentleman while on the road to Carlisle to take his 
trial for his share in the affair of 1745, took place at Errickstanebrae, in the 
singular manner ascribed to the Laird of Summertrees in the text. The Author 
has seen in his youth the gentleman to whom the adventure actually happened. 
The distance of time makes some indistinctness of recollection, but it is be- 
lieved the real name was MacEwen or MacMillan. 

t An old gentleman of the Author's name was engaged in the affair of 1715, 
and with some difficulty was saved from the gallows, by the intercession of the 
Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. Her Grace, who maintained a good 
deal of authority over her clan, sent for the object of her intercession, and 
warning him of the risk which he had run, and the trouble she had taken on his 
account, wound up her lecture by intimating, that in case of such disloyalty 
again, he was not to expect her interest in his favor. “ An’ it please your 
Grace,” said the stout old Tory, “I fear I’m too old to see another oppor- 
tunity.” 

t Braxy Mutton.- The flesh of sheep that has died of disease, not by the 
band of the butcher In pastoral countries it is used as food with little scruple. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


203 


distinct denunciations, drank it off, and assumed his usual manner, 
which had been a little disturbed toward the end of the narrative. 

“ What became of Mr. Redgauutlet’s child?” said Fairford. 

“ Mister Redgauntlet! He wa3 Sir Henry Redgauntlet, as his 
son, if the child now lives, will be Sir Arthur — 1 called him Harry 
from intimac 3 % and Redgauntlet as the chief of his name. His 
proper style was Sir Henry Redgaunllet.” 

“ His son, therefore, is dead?” said Alan Fairford. “ It is a pity 
so brave a line should draw to a close.” 

‘ He has left a brother,” said Summertrees, “ Edward Hugh Red- 
gauntlet, who has now the representation of the family. And well 
it is; for though he be unfortunate in many respects, he will keep 
up the honor of the house better than a boy bred up amongst these 
bitter 'Whigs, his relations of the elder brother Sir Henry’s lady. 
Then they are on no good terms with the Redgauntlet line— bitter 
Whigs they are in every sense. It was a runaway match betwixt 
Sir Henry and his lady. Poor thing, they would not -allow her to 
see him when in confinement— they had even the meanness to leave 
him without pecuniary assistance; and, as all his own property was 
seized upon and plundered, he would have wanted common neces- 
saries, but for the attachment of a fellow who was a famous fiddler 
—a blind man— 1 have seen him with Sir Henry myself, both before 
the affair broke out and while it was going on. I have heard that 
he fiddled in the streets of Carlisle, and carried what money he got 
to his master, while he was confined in the castle.” 

** 1 do not believe a word of it,” said Mrs. Crosbie, kindling with 
indignation. “ A Redgauntlet would have died twenty times before 
he had touched a fiddler’s wages.” 

' ‘ Hout fye— bout fye — all nonsense and pride,” said the Laird of 
Summertrees. “Scornful dogs will eat dirty puddings, Cousin 
Crosbie— ye little ken what some of your friends were obliged to do 
yon time for a sowp of brose, or a bit of bannock. G d, 1 car- 

ried a cutler’s wheel for several weeks, partly f :>r need, and partly 
for disguise— there 1 went bizz — bizz— whizz— zizz, at every auld 
wife's door; and it ever you waut your shears sharpened, Mrs. 
Crosbie, 1 am the lad to do it tor you, if my wheel was but in 
order.” 

“ You must ask my leave first,” said the Provost; “ for I have 
been told you bad some queer fashions of taking a kiss instead of a 
penny, if you liked your customer.” 

“ Come, come, Provost,” said the lady rising, “ if the mailt gets 
abune the meal with you, it is time for me to take myself away — 
And you will come to my room, gentlemen, when you want a cup 
of tea.” 

Alan Fairford was not sorry for the lady’s departure. She seemed 
too much alive to the honor of the house of Redgauntlet, though 
only a fourth cousin, not' to be alarmed by the inquiries which he 
proposed to make after the whereabout of its present head. Strange 
confused suspicions arose in his mind, from his imperfect recollec- 
tion of the tale of Wandering Willie, and the idea forced itself upon 
him, that his friend Darsie Latimer might be the son of the unfort- 
unate Sir Henry. Rut before indulging in such speculations, the 
point was to discover what had actually become of him. If he w r ere 


204 


REDGAUNTLET. 


in the hands of his uncle, might there not exist some rivaliy in fort- 
une, or rank, which might induce so stern a man as Redgauntlet to 
use unfair measures toward a youth whom he would find himself 
unable to mold to his purpose? He considered these points in 
silence, during several revolutions of the glasses as they wheeled in 
galaxy round the bowl, waiting until the Provost, agreeably lo his 
own proposal, should mention the subject, for which he had ex- 
pressly introduced him to Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees. 

Apparently the Provost had forgot his promise, or at least was in 
no great haste to fulfill it. He debated with great earnestness upon 
the Stamp Act, which was then impending over the American colo- 
nies, and upon other political subjects of the day, but said not a word 
of Redgauntlet. Alan soon saw that the investigation he meditated 
must advance, if at all, on his own special motion, and determined 
to proceed accordingly. 

Acting upon this resolution, he took the first opportunity afforded 
by a pause in the discussion of colonial politics to say, “ 1 must re- 
mind you, Provost Crosbie, of your kind promise to procure some 
intelligence upon the subject 1 am so anxious about.” 

‘‘Gadso!” said the Provost, after a moment’s hesitation, “ it is 
very true. Mr. Maxwell, we wish to consult you on a piece of im- 
portant business. You must know— indeed ] think you must have 
heard, that the fishermen at BroKenburn, and higher up the Solway, 
have made a raid upon Quaker Geddes’s stake-nets, and leveled all 
with the sands.” 

” In truth I heard it, Provost, and I was glad to hear the scoun- 
drels had so much pluck left as to right themselves against a fashion 
which would make the upper heritors a sort of clocking-hens, to 
hatch the fish that folk below them were to catch and eat.” 

‘‘Well, sir,” said Alan, ‘‘that is not the present point. But a 
young friend of mine was with Mr. Geddes at the time this violent 
procedure took place, and he has not since been heard of. Now, 
our friend, the Provost, thinks that you may 'be able to advise — ” 

Here he was interrupted by the Provost and Summertrees speak- 
ing out both at once, the first endeavoring to disclaim all interest in 
the question, and the last to evade giving an answer. 

“ Methinks!” said the Provost; “ 1 never thought twice about it, 
Mr. Fairlord; it was neither fish, nor flesh, nor salt herring of 
mine.” 

“ And 1 ‘ able to advise!’ ” said Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees; 
“ what the devil can 1 advise you tG do, excepting to send the bell- 
man through the town to cry your lost sheep, as they do spaniel 
dogs or stray ponies?” 

“ With your pardon,” said Alan, calmly but resolutely, ” 1 must 
ask a more serious answer.” 

“ Why, Mr. Advocate,” answered Summertrees, “ 1 thought it 
was your business to give advice to the lieges, and not to take it 
from poor stupid country gentlemen.” 

“ If not exactly advice, it is sometimes our duty to ask questions, 
Mr. Maxwell.” 

“ A.y, sir, when you have your bag- wig and your gown on, we 
must allow you the usual privilege of both gown and petticoat, to 
ask what questions you please. But when you are out of your 


REDGAUNTLET. 


205 


canonicals, the case is altered. How come you, sir, to suppose that 
1 have any business with this riotous proceeding, or should know 
more than you do what happened there? the question proceeds on an 
uncivil supposition/’ 

“ 1 will explain,” said Alan, determined to give Mr. Maxwell no 
opportunity ot breaking oft the conversation. “ You are an intimate 
of Mr. Redgauntlet — he is accused of having been engaged in this 
afltray, and of having placed under forcible restraint the person of 
my friend Darsie Latimer, a young man ot property and consequence, 
whose fate 1 am here for the express purpose of investigating. This 
is the plain state of the case; and all parties concerned — your 
friend, in particular — will have reason to be thankful for the tem- 
perate manner in -which it is my purpose to conduct the matter, if 1 
am treated with proportionate frankness.” 

“You have misunderstood me,” said Maxwell, with a tone changed 
to more composure. “ 1 told you 1 was the friend ot the late Sir 
Henry Redjrauntlet, who was executed in 1745, at Eiairibie, near 
Carlisle, but 1 know no one who at present bears the name of Red- 
gauntlet.” 

“ You know Mr. Herries of Birrenswork,” said Alan, smiling, 
*' to whom the name ot Redgauntlet belongs?” 

Maxwell darted a keen, reproachful look toward the Provost, but 
instantly smoothed his brow, and changed his tone to that of con- 
fidence and candor. 

“ You must not be aDgrj T , Mr. Fairford, that poor persecuted 
nonjurors are a little upon the qui vi'ce when such clever young men 
as you are making inquiries after us. 1 myself now, though 1 am 
quite out of the scrape, and may cock my hat at the Cross as 1 best 
like, sunshine or moonshine, have been yet so much accustomed to 
walk with the lap of my cloak cast over my face, that faith, if a 
red-coat walk suddenly up to me, 1 wish for my wheel and whetstone 
again for a moment. Now, Redgauntlet, poor fellow, is far worse 
off— he is, you may have heard, still under the lash ot the law— the 
mark of the beast is still on his forehead, poor gentleman— and that 
makes us cautious— very cautious, which I am sure there is no oc- 
casion to be toward you, as no one of } r our appearance and manners 
would wish to trepan a gentleman under misfortune.” 

‘‘On the contrary, sir,” said Fairford, ‘‘1 wish to afford Mr. 
Redgauntlet’s friends an opportunity to get him out of the scrape, 
by procuring the instant liberation of my friend Darsie Latimer. 1 
will engage, that if he has sustained no greater bodily harm than 
a short confinement the matter may be passed over quietly, without 
inquiry; but to attain this end, so desirable for the man who has 
committed a great and recent infraction of the laws, which he had 
before grievously offended, very speedy reparation of the wrong 
must be rendered.” 

Maxwell seemed lost in reflection, and exchanged a glance or two, 
not of the most comfortable or congratulatory kind, with his host, 
the Provost. Fairford rose and walked about the room, to allow 
them an opportunity of conversing together; for he was in hopes 
that the impression he had visibly made upon Summertrees was 
likely to ripen into something favorable to his purpose. They took 
the opportunity, and engaged in whispers to each other, eagerly and 


206 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


reproachfully on ‘lie part ot the laird, which the Provost answered 
in an embarrassed and apologeticul tone. Some broken words of 
the conversation reached Fairford, whose presence they seemed to 
forget, as he stood at the bottom of the room, apparently intent upon 
examining the figures upon a fine Indian screen, a present to the 
Provost from his brother, a captain of a vessel in the Company’s 
service. What he overheard made it evident that his errand, and 
the obstinacy with which he pursued it, occasioned altercation be- 
tween the whisperers. 

Maxwell at length let out the words, “ A good fright; and so send 
him home wiih his tail scalded, like a dog that has cornea-privateer- 
ing on strange premises.” 

The Provost’s negative was strongly interposed — “ Not to be 
thought of” — ‘‘making bad worse” — ‘‘my situation” — “my 
utility” — “you can not conceive how obstinate — just like his 
father.” 

They then whispered more closely, and at length the Provost 
raised his drooping crest, and spoke in a ckeertul tone, “ Come, sit 
down to your glass, Mr. Fairford; we have laid our heads thegither, 
and you shall see it will not be our fault if you are not quite pleased, 
and Mr. Darsie Latimer let loose to take his fiddle under his neck 
again. But Summertrees thinks it will require you to put yourself 
into some bodily risk, which may be you may not be so keen of.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Fairford, ‘‘ 1 will not certainly shun any risk 
by winch my object may be accomplished: but 1 bind it on your 
consciences— on yours, Mr. Maxwell, as a man of honor and a gen- 
tleman; and on yours, Provost, as a magistrate and a loyal subject, 
that you do not mislead me in this matter.” 

“ Nay, as for me,” said Summertrees, ‘‘ I will tell you the truth 
at once, and fairly own that 1 can certainly find you the means of 
seeing Redgauntlet, poor man; and that 1 will do, if you require it, 
and conjure him also to treat you as your errand requires; but poor 
Redgauntlet is much changed — indeed, to say truth, his temper 
never was the best in the world; however, 1 will warrant you from 
any very great danger.” 

“ 1 will warrant myself from such,” said Fairford, “ by carrying 
a proper force with me.” 

“ Indeed,” said Summertrees, “you will do no such thing; for. 
in the first place, do you think that we will deliver up the poor fel- 
low into the hands of the Philistines, when, on the contrary, my 
only reason for furnishing you with the clew I am to put iuto your 
hands, is to settle the matter amicably on all sides? And secondly, 
his intelligence is so good, that were you coming near him with sol- 
diers, or constables, or the like, I shall answer for it, you will never 
lay salt on his tail.” 

Fairford mused for a moment. He considered that to gain sight 
of this man, and knowledge of his friend’s condition, were advan- 
tages to be purchased at every personal risk; and he saw plainly, 
that were he to take the course most safe for himself, and call in the 
assistance of the law, it was clear, he would either be deprived of 
the intelligence necessary to guide him, or that Redgauntlet w’ould 
be apprised of his danger, and might probably leave the couutry, 
carrying his captive along with him. lie therefore repeated, “ 1 


REDGAUNTLET. 


20 ? 

put myself on your honor, Mr. Maxwell; and I w ill go alone to 
visit your friend. 1 have little doubt 1 shall find him amenable to 
reason; and that 1 shall receive from him a satisfactory account of 
Mr. Latimer.” 

“ 1 have little doubt that you will,” said Mr. Maxwell of Sum- 
mertrees; “ but still l think it will be only in the long run, and after 
having sustained some delay and inconvenience. My warandice 
goes no further.” 

“ 1 will take it as it is given,” said Alan Fair ford. “ But let me 
ask, would it not be better, since yon value your iriend’s safety so 
highly, and surely would not willingly compromise mine, that the 
Provost or you should go with me to this man, if he is within any 
reasonable distance, and try to make him hear reason?” 

“ Me! 1 will not go my foot’s length,” said ihe Provost; “ and 
that, Mr. Alan, you may be well assured ol. Mr. Redgauntlet is 
my wife's fourth cousin, that is undeniable; but were he the last of 
her kin and mine both, it would ill befit my office to be communing 
with rebels.” 

“ Ay, or drinking with nonjurors,” said Mr. Maxwell, filling his 
glass. ” 1 would as soon expect to have met Olaverliouse at a field- 
preaching. And as for myself, Mr. Fairford, 1 can not go for just 
the opposite reason. It would be infra dig. in the Provost of this 
most nourishing and loyal town to associate with Redgauntlet; and 
for me it would be noscitur a socio. There would be post to Lon- 
don, with the tidings that two such Jacobites as Redgauntlet and I 
had met on a braeside— the habeas corpus would be suspended— 
Fame would sound a charge from Carlisle to the Land’s End — and 
who knows but the very wind of the rumor might bio tv my estate 
from between my fingers, and my body over Errickstane brae again? 
No, no; bide a gliff — 1 will go into tbe Provost’s closet, and write a 
letter to Redgauntlet. and direct you how to deliver it.” 

“ There is pen and ink in the office,” said the provost, pointing 
to the door of an inner apartment, in which he had his walnut-tree 
desk, and east-country cabinet. 

“ A pen that can write, 1 hope?” said the old laird. 

“ It can write and spell baitli in right bands,” answered the 
Provost, as the laird retired and shut the door behind him. 


CHAPTER Xll. 

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED. 

The room was no sooner deprived of Mr. Maxwell of Summer- 
trees’ presence, than the Provost looked very warily above, beneath, 
and around the apartment, hitched his chair toward that of his re- 
maining guest, and began to speak in a whisper which could not have 
startled “ the smallest mouse that creeps on the floor.” 

Mr. Fairford,” said he, “you are a good lad; and, what is 
more, you are my auld friend your father’s son. Your father has 
been agent for this burgh for years, and has a good deal to say with 
the council: so there have been a sort of obfigations between him 
and me; it may have been now on this side, and now on that; but 


208 


REDGAUNTLET. 


obligations there have been. 1 am but a plain man, Mr. Fairford;: 
but i hope you understand me?” 

” 1 believe you mean me well, Provost; and I am sure,” replied 
Fairford, “ you can never better show your kindness than on this 
occasion. ” 

“ That’s it— that’s the very point 1 would be at, Mr. Alan,” re- 
plied the Provost; 44 besides, I am, as becomes well my situation, a 
stanch iriend to Kirk and King, meaning this present establishment 
in church and state; and so, as 1 was saying, you may command my 
best— advice.” 

44 I hope tor assistance and co-operation also,” said the yiuth. 

Certainly, certainly,” said the wary magistrate. 44 Well, now, 
you see one may well love the Eiik, and yet not ride on the rigging 
of it; and one may love the King, and yet not be cramming him 
eternally down the tliruat ot the unhappy folk that may chance to 
like another king better. I have friends and connections among 
them, Mr. Fairford. as your father may have clients — they are flesh 
and blood like ourselves, these poor Jacobite bodies— sons of Adam 
and Eve, alter all; and therefore— I hope you understand me? 1 
am a plain-spoken man.” 

”1 am afraid 1 do not quite understand you,” said Fairford; 
” and if you have anything to say to me in private, my dear Pro- 
vost, you had better come quickly out with it, for the Laird of 
Summertrees must finish his letter in a minute or two.” 

44 Not a bit, man — Fate is a lang-headed fellow, but his pen does 
not clear the paper as bis greyhound does the Tinwald-furs. I gave 
him a wipe about that, if you noticed; 1 can say anything to Pate- 
in-Peril. Indeed, he is my wife’s near kinsman.” 

* 4 But your advice. Provost,” said Alan, who perceived that, like 
a shy horse, the worthy magistrate always started off from his own 
purpose just when he seemed approaching to it. 

“ Weel, you shall have it in plain terms, for I am a plain man. 
Ye see, we will suppose that any friend like yourself were in the 
deepest hole of the Nitli, and making a spiattle for your life. Now, 
you see, such being the case, 1 have little chance of helping you, 
being a fat, short-armed man, and no swimmer, and what would be 
the use ot my jumping in after you?” 

44 1 understand you, I think,” said Alan Fairford. 44 You think 
that Darsie Latimer is in danger of his life?” 

44 Me! 1 think nothing about it, Mr. Alan; but if he were, as 1 
trust be is not, he is nae drap’s blood akin to you, Mr. Alan.” 

44 But here your friend, Summertrees,” said the young lawyer, 

44 offers me a letter to this Redgauntlet of yours. What sav you to 
that?” " J 

44 Mel” ejaculated the Provost, 44 me, Mr. Alan? 1 say neither 
buff nor style to it. But ye dinna ken what it is to look a Red- 
gauntlet in the face; better try my wife, who is but a fourth cousin, 
before ye venture on the laird himself— just say something about 
the Revolution, and see what a look she can gie you.” 

44 1 shall leave you to stand all the shots from that batterv, Pro- 
vost,” replied Fairford. 44 But speak out like a man. Do you 
think Summertrees means fairly by me?” 


KEDGAUNTLET. 20& 

“ Fairly— he is just coming— tairly? I am a plain man, Mr. 
Fairford — but ye say fairly?”'' 

“ 1 do so,” replied Alan, “ and it is of importance to me to know, 
and to you to tell me it such is the case, tor it you do not, you may 
be an accomplice to murder betore the tact, and that under circum- 
stances which may bring it near to murder under trust.” 

‘‘Murder! who spoke of murder?” said ihe Provost; ‘‘no 
danger of that, Mr. Alan — only, it 1 were you — 10 speak my plain 
mind ” — here he approached his mouth to the ear of the young 
lawyer, and after another acute pang of travail, was salely deliv- 
ered of his advice in the following abrupt words: — 

“ Take a keek into Pate's letter before ye deliver it.” 

Fairford started, looked the Provost hard in the lace, and was si- 
lent; while Mr. Crosbie, witn tbeself approbation ot one who has at 
length brought himself to the discharge of a great duty, at the ex- 
pense of a consideraDle sacrifice, nodded and winked to Alan, as if 
enforcing his advice; and then swallowing a large glass ot punch, 
concluded, with the sigh of a man released from a heavy burden, 
‘‘ 1 am a plain man, Mr. Fairford.” 

‘* A plaiu man?” said Maxwell, who entered the room at that 
moment, with a letter in his hand. ‘‘ Provost, 1 never heard you 
make use of the word, but when you had some sly turn of your own 
to work out.” 

The Provost looked silly enough, and the Laird ot Summertrees 
directed a keen and suspicious glance upon Alan Fairford, who 
sustained it with professional intrepidity. There was a moment’s 
pause. 

“ 1 was trying,” said the Provost, “ to dissuade our young friend 
from his wild-goose expedition.” 

“ And I,” said Fairford, ‘‘ am determined to go through with it. 
Trusting myself to you, Mr. Maxwell, I conceive that l rely, as I 
before said, on the word of a gentleman.” 

*‘ 1 will warrant you,” said Maxwell, ‘‘from all serious conse- 
quences — some inconveniences you must look to suffer.” 

“To these 1 shall be resigned,” said Fairford, “ and stand pre- 
pared to run my risk.” 

“ Well, then,” said Summertrees, ‘‘you must go — ” 

“ 1 will leave you to yourselves, gentlemen,” said the Provost, ris- 
ing; “ when you have done with your crack, you will find me at 
my wife’s tea-table.” 

“And a more accomplished old woman never drank cat-lap,” 
said Maxwell, as he shut the door; “ the last word has him, speak 
it tvh > will— and yet because he is a whiily-whaw body, and has a 
plausible tongue oi his own, and is well enough connected, and es- 
pecially because nobody could ever find out whether he is Whig or 
Tory, this is the third time they have made him Provost! But to 
the matter in hand. This letter, Mr. Fairford,” putting a sealed one 

into his hand, “ is addressed, you observe, to Mr. H of B , 

and contains your credentials for that gentleman, who is also known 
by his family name ot Redgauntlet, but less frequently addressed 
by it, because it is mentioned something invidiously in a certain act 
of Parliament. 1 have little doubt he will assure you of your 
friend’s safety, and in a short time ?^are him at freedom — that is. 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


210 

supposing him under present restraint. But the point is to discover 
where he is — and, before } t ou are made acquainted with this neces- 
sary part of the business, you must give me your assurance of 
honor that you will acquaint no one, either by word or letter, with 
the expedition which you now propose to yourself.” 

“ How, sir?” answered Alan; ‘‘can you expect that I will not 
take the precaution of informing some person of tlie route 1 am 
about to take, that in case of accident it may be known where 1 
am, and with what puipose 1 have gone thither?” 

“ And can you expect,” answered Maxwell, in the same tone, 
“ that 1 am to place my friend’s safety not merely in your hands, 
but in those of any person you may choose to confide in, and who 
may use the knowledge to liis destruction? Na, na — I have pledged 
my word for your safety, and you must give me yours to be private 
in the matter— gift gafl— you know.” 

Alan Fair ft rd could not help thinking that this obligation to se- 
crecy gavoa new and suspicious coloring to the whole transaction; 
but, considering that his friend’s release might depend upon his 
accepting the condition, he gave it in the terms proposed, and wdth 
the purpose of abiding by it. 

“ And now, sir,” he said, “ whither am 1 to proceed with this let- 
ter? Is Mr. llerries at Brokenburn?” 

** He is not; 1 do not think he will come thither again, until the 
business of tlie stake-nets be hushed up, nor would 1 advise him to 
do so — the Quakers, with all their demureness, can bear malice as 
long as other folhs; and though 1 have not the prudence of Mr. Pro- 
vost who refuses to ken where his friends are concealed during ad- 
versity, lest, perchance, he should be asked to contribute to their 
relief, yet I do not think it necessary or prudent to inquire into Red- 
gauntlet’s wanderings, poor man, but wish to remain at perfect 
freedom to answer, it asked, that 1 ken nothing of the matter. You 
must, then, go to old Tom Trumbull’s at Annan — Tom Turnpenny 
as they call him. and he is surejeither to l^now where Redgauntlet 
is himself, or to find some one who can give a shrewd guess. But 
you must attend that old Turnpenny will answer no question on 
such a subject without you give him the passport, which, at present 
you must do, by asking him the age of the moon; if he answers, 

‘ Not light enough to land a caigo,’ you are to answer, ‘ Then 
plague on Aberdeen Almanacs,’ and upon that he will hold free in- 
tercourse with you. And now, 1 would advise you to lose no time, 
for the parole is often changed — and take care of yourself among 
these moonlight lads, for laws and lawyers do not stand very high 
in their favor.” 

“ 1 will set out this instant,” said the young barrister; “ I will 
but bid the Provost and Mrs. Crosbie farewell, and then get on 
horseback as soon as the hostler of the George Inn can saddle him; 
as for the smugglers lam neithei gauger nor supervisor;’ and like 
the man who met the devil, it they have nothing to say to me 1 hayg 
nothing to say to them.” 

‘‘ You are a mettled young man,” said Summertrees, evidently 
with increasing good-will, on observing an alertness and contempt 
of danger, which, perhaps, he did not expect from Alan’s appear- 


REDGAUNTLET. 211 

ance and profession, “ a very mettled young fellow, indeed! and it 
is almost a pity—” Here he slopped short. 

“ What is a pity?” said Fairford. 

“ It is almost a pity that 1 can not go with you myself, or at least 
send a trusty guide.” 

'They walked together to the bedchamber of Mrs. Crosbie, for it 
was in that asylum that the ladies of the period dispensed their tea 
when the parlor was occupied by the punch bowl. 

“You have been good bairns to-night, gentlemen,” said Mrs. 
Crosbie; ‘‘ I am afraid, Summertrees, that the Frovost has Kiven~ 
you a bad browst, you are not used to quit the leeside of the punch- 
bowl in such a hurry. 1 say nothing to you, Mr. Fairford, for 
you are too young a man for stoup and bicker; but 1 hope you will 
not tell the Edinburgh fine folk that the Provost has scrimped you 
out of your cogie, as the sang says?” 

“ 1 am much obliged for the Provosi’s kindness, and yours, 
madam,” replied Alan; “ but the truth is, 1 have still a long ride 
before me this evening, and the sooner I am on horseback the better.” 

“‘This evening?” said the Provost, anxiously; “had you not 
better take daylight with you to-moriow morning?” 

“ Mr. Fairford will ride as well in the cool of the evening,” said 
Summertrees, taking the word out of Alan’s mouth. 

The Provost said no more, nor did his wife ask aay questions. 
Dor testify any surprise at the suddenness of their guest’s departure. 

Having drunk tea, Alan Fairford took leave with the usual cere- 
mony. The Laird of Summertrees seemed studious to prevent any 
further communication between him and the Provost, and remained 
lounging on the landing-place ot the stair while they made their 
adieus— heard the Provost ask if Alan proposed a speedy return, 
and the latter reply, that his stay was uncertain, and witnessed the 
parting shake of the hand, which, with a pressure more w r arm than 
usual, and a tremulous “ God bless and prosper you!” Mr. Crosbie 
bestowed on his young friend. Maxwell even strolled with Fair- 
ford as far as the George, although resisting all his attempts at fur- 
ther inquiry into the affairs of Redgauntlet, and referring him to 
Tom Trumbull alias Turnpenny, for the particulars which he 
might find it necessary to inquire into. 

At length Alan’s hack was produced— an animal long in neck, 
and high in bone, accoutered with a pair of saddle-bags containing 
the rider’s traveling waidrobe. Proudly surmounting his small 
stock of necessaries, and no way ashamed ot a mode of traveling 
which a modern Mr. Silvertongue would consider as the last of deg- 
radations, Alan Fairford took leave of the old Jacobite, Pate-in- 
Peril, and set forward on the road to the loyal burgh of Annan. 
His reflections during his ride were none of the most pleasant. He 
could not disguise f tom himself that he was venturing rather too 
rashly into the power of outlawed and desperate persons; for with 
such only, a man in the situation of Redgauntlet could be sup- 
posed to associate. There were other grounds for apprehension. 
Several marks of intelligence betwixt MrT Crosbie and the Laird of 
Summertrees had not escaped Alan’s acute observations; and it was 
plain that the Provost’s inclinations toward him, which he believed 
to be sincere and good, were not firm enough to withstand the infiu- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


212 

ence of the league between his wife and friend. The Provost’s 
adieus, like Macbeth’s amen, had stuck in his throat, and seemed to 
intimate that he apprehended more than he dared give utterance to. 

Laying all these matters together, Alan thought, with no little 
anxiety, on the celebrated lines of Shakespeare, 

— “ A drop, 

That in the ocean seeks another drop,” etc. 

But pertinacity was a strong feature in the young lawyer’s char- 
acter. He was. and always had been, totally unlike the “ horse hot 
at hand,” who tires before noon through his own overeager exer- 
tions in the beginning of the day. On the contrary, his first efforts 
seemed frequently inadequate to accomplishing his purpose, what- 
ever that for the time might be; and it was only as the difficulties 
of the task increased, that his mind seemed to acquire the energy 
necessary to combat and subdue them. If, therefore, he went anx- 
iously forward upon his uncertain and perilous expedition, the 
reader must acquit him of all idea, even in a passing thought, of the 
possibility of abandoning his search, and resigning Harsie Latimer 
to his destiny. 

A couple of hours’ riding brought him to the little town of Annan, 
situated on the shores of the Solway, between eight and nine 
o’clock. The sun had set, but the day was not yet ended, and 
when he had alighted and seen his horse properly cared lor at the 
principal inn of the place, he was readily directed to Mr. Maxwell’s 
friend, old Tom Trumbull, with whom everybody seemed well ac- 
quainted. He endeavored to fish out from ihe lad that acted as a 
guide, something of this man’s situation and profession; but the 
general expressions ot “a very decent man” — ‘‘a very honest 
body ” — ” weel to pass in the world,” and such like, were all that 
could be extracted from him; and while Fairford was following up 
the investigation, with close interrogatories, the lad put an end to 
them by knocking at the door of Mr. Trumbull, whose decent 
dwelling was a little distance from the town, and considerably 
nearer to the sea. It was one of a little row ot houses running down 
to the water-side, and having gardens and other accommodations, 
behind. There was heard within the uplifting of a Scottish psalm; 
and the boy saying, “They are at exercise, sir,” gave intimation 
they might not be admitted till prayers were over. 

When, however, Fairford repeated the summons with the end ot 
his whip, the singing ceased, and Mr. Trumbull himself, with his 
psalm-book in his hand, kept open by Ihe insertion of his forefinger 
between the leaves, came to demand the meaning of his unseasona- 
ble interruption. 

Nothing could be more different than his whole appearance 
seemed to be from the confidant of a desperate man, and the asso- 
ciate of outlaws in their unlawful enterprises. He was a tall, thin, 
bony figure with, white hair combed straight down on each side of 
his face, and an iron-gray hue of complexion ; where the lines, or 
rather, as Quin said of Macklin, the cordage, of his countenance 
were so sternly adapted to a devotional and even ascetic expression, 
that they left no room for any indication of reckless daring, or sly 
dissimulation. In short, Trumbull appeared a perfect specimen of 


REDGAUNTLET. 


213 


the rigid old Covenanter, who said only what he thought right, acted 
on no other principle but that ot duty, and, it he committed errors, 
did so under the lull impression that he was serving God rather 
than man. 

“ Do you want me, sir?” he said to Fairford, whose guide had 
slunk to the rear, as if to escape the rebuke ot the severe old man 
— “ We were engaged, and it is the Saturday night.” 

Alan Fairtoid’s preconceptions were so much deranged by this 
man’s appearance and manner, that he stood for a moment bewil- 
dered, and would as soon have thought ol giving a cant password to 
a clergyman descending from the pulpit, as to the respectable fa- 
ther of a family just interrupted in his prayers for and with the ob- 
jects of his care. Hastily concluding Mr. Maxwell had passed some 
idle jest on him, or rather that he had mistaken the person to whom 
he was directed, he asked it he spoke to Mr. Trumbull. 

“ To Thomas Trumbull,” answered the old man. “ What may 
be your business, sir?” And he glanced his eye to the book he held 
in his hand with a sigh like that of a saint: desirous of dissolution. 

“ Do you know Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees?” said Fairford. 

“ I have heard of such a gentleman in the country-side, but have 
no acquaintance with him,” answered Mr. Trumbull; ” he is, as I 
have heard, a Papist; for the whore that sitteth on the seven hills 
ceaseth not yet to pour forth the cup of her abomination on these 
parts.” 

‘‘Yet he directed me hither, my good friend,” said Alan. “Is 
there another of your name in this town of Annan?” 

“None,” replied Mr. Trumbull, “since my worthy fattier was 
removed; he was indeed a shining light. 1 wish you good-even, 
sir.” 

“ Stay one single instant,” said Fairford; “this is a matter of 
life and death.” 

“ Not more than the casting the burden of our sins where they 
should be laid,” said Thomas Trumbull, about to shut the door in 
the inquirer’s face. 

“ Do you know,” said Alan Fairford, “ the Laird of Redgauntlet?” 

“Now Heaven defend me from treason and rebellion!” ex- 
claimed Trumbull. “ Young gentleman, you are importunate. 1 
live here among my own people, and do not cousorl with Jacobites 
and mass-mongers.” 

He seemed about to shut the door, but did not shut it, a circum- 
stance which did not escape Alan’s notice. 

“Mr. Redgauntlet is sometimes,” he said, “called Herries ot 
Birrenswork; perhaps you may know him under that name?” 

“ Friend, you are uncivil,” answered Mr. Trumbull; “honest 
men have enough to do to keep one name undefiled. 1 ken nothing 
about those who have two. Good-even to you, friend.” 

He was no tv about to slam the door in his visitor’s face without 
further ceremony, when Alan, who had observed symptoms that 
the name of Redgauntlet did not seem altogether so indifferent to 
him as he pretended, arrested his purpose by saying in a low voice, 
“ At least you can tell me what age the moon is?” 

The old man started, as it from a trance, and before answering, 
surveyed the querist with a keen penetrating glance, which seemed 


214 


REDGAU2SITLET. 


to say, “ Are you really in possession ot this key to my confidence, 
or do you speak from mere accident?” 

To this keen look ot scrutiny, Fairford replied by a smile ot in- 
telligence. 

The iron muscles of the old man's face did not, however, relax 
as he dropped in a careless manner, the countersign, “ JNot light 
enough to land a cargo.” 

“ Then plague ot all Aberdeen almanacs!” 

“ And plague of all tools that waste time,” said Thomas Trum- 
bull. “ Could you not have said as much at first? And standing 
wasting time, and encouraging lookers-on in the open street too? 
Come in by — in by N ” 

He drew his visitor into the dark entrance of the house, and shut 
the door carefully; then putting his head into an apartment which 
the murmurs within announced to be filled with the family, he said 
aloud, ” A work of necessity and mercy — Malachi, take the book. 
You will sing six double verses of the hundred and nineteen — and 
you may lecture out of the Lamentations. And, Malachi ” — this he 
said in an undertone—” see you give them a screed of doctrine that 
will last them till 1 come back; or else these inconsiderate lads will 
be out of the house, and away to the public, wasting their precious 
time, and, it may be, putting themselves in the w'ay of missing the 
morning tide.” 

An inarticulate answer from within intimated Malachi’s acquies- 
cence in the commands imposed; and Mr. Trumbull, shutting the 
door, muttered something about fast bind, fast find, turned the 
key, and put it into his pocket; and then bidding his visitor have a 
care of his steps, and make no noise, he led him through the house, 
and out at a back door into a little garden. Here a plaited alley 
conducted them, without the possibility of their being seen by any 
neighbor, to a door in the garden wall, which, being opened, proved 
to be a private entrance into a tliree-stalled stable; in one of which 
was a horse that whinnied on their entrauce. ” Hush, hush!” cried 
the old man, and presently seconded his exhortations to silence by 
throwing a handful of corn into the manger, and the horse soon 
converted his acknowledgment of their presence into the usual sound 
of munching and grinding his provender. 

As the light was now failing fast, the old man, with much more 
alertness than might have been expected from the rigidity of his 
figure, closed the window-shutters in an instant, produced phos- 
phorus, and matches, and lighted a stable-lantern, which he placed 
on the corn-bin, and then addressed Fairford: ” We are private 
here, young man; and as some time has been wasted already, you 
will be so kind as to tell me what is your errand. Is it about the 
way of business, or the other job?” 

“ My business with you, Mr. Trumbull, is to request you will 
find me the means of delivering this letter from Mr. Maxwell of 
Summertrees to the Laird of Redgauntlet.” 

“ Humph— fafcliious job! Pate Maxwell will still be the auld 
man— always Pate-in-Peril— Craig-in-Peril, foi what 1 know. Let 
me see the letter from him.” 

He examined it with much care, turning it up and down, and 
looking at the seal very attentively. “ All’s right, I see; it has the 


REDGAUNTLET. 


215 

private mark for haste and speed. 1 bless ray Maker that 1 am no 
great man or great man’s fellow; and so 1 think no more ot these 
passages than just to help them forward in the way of business. 
You are an utter stranger in these parts, 1 warraut?” 

Fairford answered iu fhe affirmative. 

“ Ay — 1 never saw them make a wiser choice. 1 must call seme 
one to direct you what to do. Stay, we must go to him, I believe. 
You are well recommended to rr.e, triend, and doubtless trusty; 
otherwise you may see more than 1 would like to show, or am in 
the use of showing in the common line of business.” ' 

Saying this, he placed his lantern on the ground, besid.e the post 
of one of the empty stalls, drew up a small spring bolt which se- 
cured it to the floor, and then forcing the post to one side, discov- 
ered a small trap door. “ Follow me,” he said, and dived into the 
subterranean descent to which this secret aperture gave access. 

Fairford plunged after him, not without apprehensions of more 
kinds than one, but still resolved to prosecute the adventuie. 

The descent, which was not above six feel, led to a very narrow 
passage, which seemed to have been constructed for the precise pur- 
pose of excluding every one who chanced to be an inch more in girth 
than was his conductor. A small vault d room, of about eight feet 
square, received them at the end of this lane. Here Mr. Trumbull 
left Fairford alone, and returned for an instant, as he said, to shut 
his concealed trap-door. 

Fairford liked not his departure, as it left him in utter darkness; 
besides that his breathing was much affected by a strong and 
stifling smell of spirits, and other articles of a savor more power- 
ful than agreeable to the lungs. He was very glad, therefore, when 
he heard the returning steps of Mr. Trumbull, who, when once more 
by his side, opened a strong though narrow door in the wall, and 
conveyed Fairford into an immense magazine of spirit-casks, and 
other articles of contraband trade. 

There was a small light at the end of this range of well-stocked 
subterranean vaults, which, upon a low whistle, began to flicker and 
move toward them. An undefined figure, holding a dark-lantern, 
with the light averted, approached them, whom Mr. Trumbull thus 
addressed: “ "Why were you not at worship, Job; and this Saturday 
at e’en?” 

“ Swanstou was loading the ‘ Jenny,’ sir; and 1 stayed to serve 
out the article.” 

‘‘ True— a work of necessity, and in the way of business. Does 
the * Jumping Jenny ’ sail this tide?” 

‘‘Ay, ay, sir; she sails for—” 

“ 1 did not ask you where she sailed for. Job,” said the old gentle- 
man, interrupting him. “ 1 thank my Maker, 1 know nothing of 
their incomings or outgoings. 1 sell my article fairly and in the 
ordinary way of business; and 1 wash my hands of everything else. 
But what 1 wish to know is, whether the gentleman called the Laird 
of the Solway Lakes is on the other side of the Border even now?” 

“ Ay, ay,” said Job, ** the laird is something in my own line, you 
know— a little contraband or so. There is a statute for him. But 
no matter; he took tne sands after the splore at the Quaker’s fi3h- 


216 REDGAUNTLET. 

traps yonder; for he has a leal heart, the laird, and is always true 
to the country side. But avast —is all snug here?” 

So saying, he suddenly turned on Alan Fairford the light side of 
the lantern he carried, who, by the transient gleam winch it threw 
in passing on the man who bore it, saw a huge figure, upward of 
six feet high, with a rough hairy cap on his head, and a set of feat- 
ures corresponding to his bulky frame. He thought also he observed 
pistols at his belt. 

“ 1 will answer for this gentleman,” said Mr. Trumbull; “ he 
must be brought to speech of the laird.” 

“ That will be kittle steering,” said the subordinate personage; 
“ for 1 understood that the laird aud his folk were no sooner on the 
other side than the land-sharks were on them, and some mounted 
lobsters from Carlisle; and so they were obliged to split and squan- 
der. There are new brooms out to sweep the country of them, they 
say; tor the brush was a hard one; and they say there was a lad 
drowned; he was not one of the laird’s gang, so there was the less 
matter.” 

“ Peace! prithee, peace. Job Rutledge,” said honest, pacific Mr. 
Trumbull. “ 1 wish thou couidst remember, man, that 1 desire to 
know nothing of your roars and splores, your brooms and brushes. 
1 dwell here among my own people; and I sell my commodity to 
him who comes in the way of business; and so wash my hands of 
all consequences, as becomes a quiet subject and an honest man. I 
never take payment, save in ready money.” 

“Ay, ay,” muttered he with the lantern, “your worship, Mr. 
Trumbull, understands that in the way of business.” 

“ Well, 1 hope you will one day know, Job,” answered Mr. 
Trumbull, “ the comfort of a conscience void of offense, and that 
fears neither gauger nor collector, neither excise nor customs. The 
business is to pass this gentleman to Cumberland upon earnest busi- 
ness, and to procure him speech with the Laird of tlie Solway Lanes 
— 1 suppose that can be done? Now 1 think Nanty Ewart, if he 
sails with the brig this morning tide, is the man to set him for- 
ward.” 

“ Ay, ay, truly is he,” said Job; “ never man knew the Border, 
dale and tell, pasture and plowland, better than Nanty; and he can 
always bring him to the laird, too, it you are sure the gentleman's 
right. But indeed that’s his o^n lookout; for were he the best 
man in Scotland, and the chairman of the d— d Board to boot, and 
had fifty men at his back, he were as well not visit the laird for 
anything but good. As for Nanty, he is word and blow, a d— d 
deal fiercer than Crisiie Nixon that they keep such a din about. 1 
have seen them both tried, by — ” 

Fairford now found himself called upon to say something; yet 
his feeling, upon finding himself thus completely in the power of 
a canting hypocrite, and of las retainer, who had so much the air of 
a determined ruffian, joined to the strong and abominable fume 
which they snuffed up with indifference, while it almost deprived 
him of respiration, combined to render utterance difficult. He 
stated, however, that he had no evil intentions toward the laird, as 
they called him, but was only the bearer of a letter to him on par- 
ticular business, from Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees. 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


217 


“Ay, ay,” said Job, “that may be well enough; and if Mr. 
Trumbull is satisfied that the service is right, why, we will give 
you a cast in the * Jumping Jenny ’ this tide, and Flanty Ewart will 
put you on a way of finding the laird, 1 warrant you/’ 

“ 1 may tor the present return, 1 presume, to the inu where 1 left 
my horse?’' said Fairlord. 

“ With pardon,’’ replied Mr. Trumbull, “you have been ower 
far ben with us for that; but Job will take you to a place where 
you may sleep rough till he calls you. I will bring you what little 
baggage you can need— for those who go on such errands must not 
be dainty. 1 will myself see after your horse, for a merciful man 
is merciful to his beast— a matter too often forgotten in our way 
of business.’’ 

“ Why, Master Trumbull,’’ replied Job, “ you know that when 
we are chased, it’s no time to shoiten sail, and so the boys do ride 
whip and spur — ’’ He stopped in his speech, observing the old 
man had vanished through the door by which he had entered. 
“ That’s always the way with old Turnpenny,’’ he said to Fairford; 
“ he cares for nothing of the trade but the prefit — now d — n me, 
if 1 don’t think the fun of it is better worth while. But come 
along, my fine chap; 1 must stow’ you away in safety until it is time 
to go aboard.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED. 

Fairford followed his gruff guide among a labyrinth of barrels 
and puncheons, on which he had more/han once like to have broken 
his nose, and from thence into what, by the glimpse of the passing 
lantern upon a desk and w-riting-materials, seemed to be a small 
office for the dispatch of business. Here there appeared no exit; but 
the smuggler, or smuggler’s ally, availing himself of a ladder, re- 
moved an old picture, which showed a door about seven feet from 
the ground, and Fairford, still following Job, was involved in an- 
other tortuous and dark passage, which involuntarily reminded him 
of Peter Peebles's lawsuit. At the end of this labyrinth, when tie 
had little guess where he had been conducted, and was, according 
to the French phrase, totally desoriente , Job suddenly set down the 
lantern, and availing himself of the flame to light two candles which 
stood on the table, asked if Alan would choose anything to eat, 
recommending, at all events, a slug of brandy to keep out the night 
air. Fairford declined both, but inquired after his baggage. 

“ The old master will take care of that himself,” said Job Rut- 
ledge; and drawing back in the direction in which he had entered, 
he vanished from the further end of the apartment, by a mode 
which the candles, still shedding an imperfect light, gave Alan no 
means of ascertaining. Thus the adventurous young lawyer was 
left alone in the apartment to which he had been conducted by so 
singulai a passage. 

In this condition, it was Alan’s first employment to survey, with 
some accuracy, the place where lrn was; and accordingly, having 
tiimmed the lights, he walked slowly round the apartment, examin- 


218 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


ing its appearance and dimensions. It seemed to be such a small 
dining-pailor as is usually found in the house of the better class 
of artisans, shopkeepers, and such persons, having a recess at the 
upper end, and the usual furniture of an ordinary description. He 
found a door, which he endeavored to open, but it was locked on 
the outside. A. corresponding door on the same side of the apart- 
ment admitted him into a closet upon the front shelves of which 
were punch-bowls, glasses, tea-cups, and the like, while on one side 
was hung a horseman’s great-coat of the coarsest materials, with 
two great horse-pistols peeping out of the pocket, and on the floor 
stood a pair of well-spattered jack-boots, the usual equipment of 
the time at least for long journeys. 

Not greatly liking the contents of the closet, Alan Fairford shut 
the door and resumed his scrutiny round the walls of the apartment, 
in order to discover the mode of Job Kutledge's retreat. The secret 
passage was, however, too artificially concealed, and the young law- 
yer liad nothing better to do than to meditate on the singularity of 
his present situation. lie had long known that the excise laws had 
occasioned an active contraband trade betwixt Scotland and Eng- 
land, which then, as now, existed, and will continue to exist, until 
the utter abolition of the wretched system which establishes an 
inequality of duties betwixt the different parts of the same king- 
dom; a system, be it said, in passing, mightily iesembling the con- 
duct of a pugilist, who should tie up one arm that he might fight 
the better with the other. But Fairford was unprepared for the ex- 
pensive and regular establishments by which t lie illicit traffic was 
carried on, and could not have conceived that the capital employed 
in it should have been adequate to the erection of these extensive 
buildings, with all their contrivances tor secrecy of communica- 
tion. He was musing on these circumstances, not without some 
anxiety for the progress of his own journey, when suddenly, as he 
lifted his eyes, he discovered old Mr. Trumbull at the upper end of 
the apartment, bearing in one hand a small bundle, in the other his 
dark-lahtern, the light of which, as he advanced, he directed full 
upon Fairford’s countenance. 

Though such an apparition was exactly what he expected, yet he 
did not see the grim, stern old man present himself thus suddenly 
without emotion; especially when he recollected, what to a youth 
of his pious education was peculiarly shocking, that the grizzled 
hypocrite was probably that instant arisen from his knees to Heaven, 
for the purpose of engaging in the mysterious transactions of a des- 
perate and illegal trade. 

Tiie old man, accustomed to judge with ready sharpness of the 
physiognomy of those with whom he had business, did not fail to 
remark something like agitation in Fairtord’s demeanor. " Have 
ye taken the rue?” said lie. “ \Y ill ye take the sheaf from the mare, 
and give up the venture?” 

“ Never!” said Fairtoid, firmly, stimulated at once by his natural 
spirit, and the recollection of his friend; “ never, while I have life 
and strength to follow it out!” 

“ 1 have brought you,” said Trumbull, “ a clean shirt, 'and some 
stockings, which is all the baggage you can conveniently carry, and 
1 will cause one of the lads lend you a horseman’s coat, for it is ill 


REDGAUNTLET. 


219 

sailing or riding without one; and, touching your valise, it will be 
as sate in my poor house, were it full ot the gold of Opliir, as it it 
were in the depth of the mine.” 

“ I have no doubt of it,” said Fairford. 

“ And now,” said Trumbull, again, “ 1 pray you to tell me by 
what name 1 am to name you to Nanty (which is Anthony! 
Ewart?” 

“ By the name of Alan Fairford,” answered the young lawyer. 

‘‘But that,” said Mr. Trumbull, in reply, “ is your ow T n proper 
name and surname.” 

‘‘ And what other should I give?” said the young man; ‘‘ do you 
think 1 have any occasion for an alias? And besides, Mr. Trum- 
bull,” added Alan, thinking a little raillery might intimate confi- 
dence ot spirit, “ you blessed yourself, but a little while since, that 
you had no acquaintance with those who defile their names so tar 
as to be obliged to change them.” 

“True, very true,” said Mr. Trumbull; “nevertheless, young 
man, my gray hairs stand unreproved in this matter; for, in my 
line of business, when I sit under my vine and my fig-tree, ex- 
changing the strong waters of the North tor the gold which is the 
price thereof, 1 have, 1 thank Heaven, no disguises to keep with 
any man, and wear my own name of Thomas Trumbull, without 
any chance that the same may be polluted. Whereas, thou, who 
are to journey iumiiy ways, and among a strange people, mayst do 
well to have two names, as thou hast two shirts, the one to keep 
the other clean.” 

Here he emitted a chuckling grunt, which lasted for two vibra- 
tions of the pendulum exactly,- and was the only approach toward 
laughter in which old Turnpenny, as he was nicknamed, was ever 
known to indulge. 

“ You are witty, Mr. Trumbull,” said Fairford; “ but jests are 
no arguments— 1 shall keep my own name.” 

“ At your own pleasure,” said the merchant; “ there is but one 
name which,” etc., etc., etc. 

We will not follow the hypocrite through the impious cant which 
he added, in order to close the subject. 

Alan followed him, in silent abhorrence, to the recess in which 
the beaufet was placed, and which was so artificially made as to 
conceal another of those traps with which the whole building 
abounded. This concealment admitted them to the same w inding 
passage by which the young lawyer had been brought 1 hither. The 
path which they now took amid these mazes differed from the 
direction in which he had been guided by Rutledge. It led up- 
ward, and terminated beneath a garret window. Trumbull opened 
it, and with more agility than his age promised, clambered out 
upon the leads. If Fair ford’s journey had been hitherto in a stifled 
and subterranean atmosphere, it was now r open, lofty, and airy 
enough; for he had to follow his guide over leads and slates, which 
the old smuggler traversed with the dexterity of a cat. It is true, 
his course was facilitated by knowing exactly wiiere certain step- 
ping-places and holdfasts were placed, of which Fairford could not 
so readily avail himself; but after a difficult and somewhat perilous 
progress along the roots of two or three houses, they at length de- 


220 


REDGAUNTLET. 


scended by a skylight, into a garret room, and liom thence by the 
stairs into a public-house; for such it appeared, by the ringing of 
bells, whistling for waiters, and attendance, bawling of “ House, 
house, here!” chorus of sea-songs, and the like noises. 

Having descended to the second story, and entered a room there, 
in which there was a light, old Mr. Trumbull rang the bell of the 
apartment thrice, with an interval betwixt each, during which he 
told deliberately the number twenty. Immediately after the third 
ringing the landlord appeared with stealthy step and an appearance 
of mystery on his buxom visage. He greeted Mr. Trumbull, who 
was liis landlord as it proved, with great respect, and expressed 
some surprise at seeing him so late, as" he termed it, on Saturday 
e’en.” 

“ And 1, Robin Hastie,” said the landlord to the tenant, “ am 
more surprised than pleased to bear sae muckle din in your house, 
Robie, so near the houorable Sabbath; ana I must mind you, that it 
is contravening the terms of your tack, whilk stipulates that you 
should shut your public on Saturday at nine o’clock at latest. ” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Robin Hastie, no way alarmed at the gravity of 
the rebuke, ‘‘ but you must take tent that I have admitted naebody 
but you, Mr. Trumbull (who, by tbe way, admitted yoursell), since 
nine o’clock; for the most of the folk have been here for several 
hours about the lading, and so on, of the brig. It is not full tide 
yet, and 1 can not put the men out into the street. If I did they 
would go to some other public, and their souls would be nane the 
better, and my purse muckle the waur; for how am 1 to pay the 
rent if 1 do not sell the liquor?” 

‘‘Nay, then,” said Thomas Trumbull, ‘‘if it is a w T ork of neces- 
sity, and in the honest independent way of business, no doubt tiiere 
is balm in Gilead. But prithee, Robin, wilt thou see if Nanty 
Ewart be, as is most likely, among these unhappy topers, and if 
so, let him step this “way cannily, and speak to me and this young 
gentleman. And it’s dry talking, Robin — you must minister to us 
a bowl of punch — ye ken my gage.” 

“ From a mutclikin to a gallon, I ken your honor’s taste, Mr.. 
Thomas Trumbull,” said mine host; “ and ye shall hang me over 
the sign-post if there be a drap mair lemon or a curn less sugar than 
just suits you. There are three of you— you will be for the auld 
Scots peremptory pint-stoup* for the success of the voyage.” 

“ Better pray for it than drink for it, Robin,” said Mr. Trum- 
bull. “ Yours is a dangerous trade, Robin; it hurts mony a ane— 
baith host and guest. But ye will get the blue bowl, Robin— the 
blue bowl— that will slocken all their drouth, and prevent the sinful 
repetition of whipping for an eke of a Saturday at e’en. Ay, Robin, 
it is a pity of Nanty Ewart— Nanty likes the turning up of his little 
huger unco weel, and we maunna stint him, Robin, so as we leave 
him sense to steer by.” 

“Nanty Ewart could steer through the Pentland Firth though 

* The Scottish pint of liquid measure comprehends four English measures of 
the same denomination. The jest is well known of my poor countryman, who 
driven to extremity by the raillery of the Southern, on the small denomination 
of the Scottish com, at length answered, “ Ay, ay ! But the deil tak them that 
has the least pint-stoup / 11 


REDGAUNTLET. 


221 


he were as drunk as the Baltic Ocean,” said Robin Plastic?; and in- 
stantly tripping down-stairs, he speedily returned with the materials 
for what he called his browst, which consisted of two English quarts 
of spirits, in a huge blue bowl, with all the ingredients for punch in 
the same formidable proportion. At the same time he introduced 
Mr. Antony or Nanty Ewart, whose person, although he was a good 
deal flustered with liquor, was different from what Fairford ex- 
pected. His dress was what is emphatically termed the shabby 
genteel— a frock with tarnished lace — a small cocked-hat, ornament- 
ed in a similar way— a scarlet waistcoat, with faded embroidery, 
breeches of the same, with silver knee-bands, and he wore a smart 
hanger and a pair of pistols in a sullied sword-belt. 

“ Here I come, patron,” he said, shaking hands with Mr. Trum- 
bull. “ Well, I see you have got some grog aboard.” 

‘‘ It is not my custom, Mr. Ewart,” said the old gentleman, *' as 
you well know, to become a chamoerer or carouser thus late on 
Saturday at e’en; but 1 wanted to recommend to your attention a 
young friend of ours, that is going upon a something particular 
journey, with a letter to our friend the laird from Pate-in-Peril, as 
they call him.” 

“ Ay— indeed? — he must be in high trust for so young a gentle- 
man. 1 wish you joy, sir,” bowing to Fairford. “ By’r lady, as 
Shakespeare says, you are bringing up a neck for a fair *end. 
Come, patron, we will drink to Mr. Wliat-shall-call -urn— what is 
his name? Did you tell me? And have 1 forgotten it already?” 

“ Mr. Alan Fairford,” said Trumbull. 

51 Ay, Mr. Alan Fairtord— a good name for a fair trader — Mr. 
Alan Fairford; and may he be long withheld from the topmost 
round of ambition, which 1 take to be the highest round of a certan 
ladder.” 

While he spoke he seized the punch-ladle, and began to fill the 
glasses. But Mr. Trumbull arrested his hand, until lie had, as he 
expressed himself, sanctified the liquor by a long grace; during the 
pronunciation of which he shut indeed his eyes, but his nostrils be- 
came dilated, as if he were snuffling up the fragrant beverage with 
peculiar complacency. 

When the grace was at length over the three friends sat down to 
their beverage, and invited Alan Fairford to partake. Anxious 
about his situation, and disgusted as he was with his company, be 
craved, and with difficulty obtained permission, under the allega- 
tion of being fatigued, heated, and the like, to stretch himself on a 
couch which was in the apartment, and attempted at least to pro- 
cure some rest before high-water, when the vessel was to sail. 

He was at length permitted to use his freedom, and stretched 
himself on the couch, having his eyes for some time fixed on the 
jovial party he had left, and straining his ears to catch, if possible, 
a little of their conversation. This he soon found was to no pur- 
pose; for what did actually reach his ears was disguised so com- 
pletely by the use of cant words and the thieves’ Latin called slang, 
that even when he caught the words, he found himself as tar a3 
ever from the sense of their conversation. At length he fell asleep. 

It was after Alan had slumbered for three or four hours that he 
was awakened by voices bidding him rise up and prepare to be jog- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


222 

ging. He started up accordingly, and found himself in presence of 
the same party of boon companions, who had just dispatched their 
huge bow) of punch. To Alan’s surprise, the liquor had made but 
little innovation on the brains of men, who were accustomed to 
drink at all Hours, and in the most inordinate quantities. The land- 
lord indeed spoke a little thick, and the texts of Mr. Thomas Trum- 
bull stumbled on his tongue; but Nauty was one of those topers, 
who. becoming early what bon mvants term flustered, remain whole 
nights and days at the same point of intoxication; and, in fact, as 
they are seldom entirely sober, can be as rarely seen absolutely 
drunk. Indeed, Fairtord, had he not known how Ewart had been 
engaged while he himself w T as asleep, would almost have sworn 
when he awoke, that the man was more sober than when he first 
entered the room. 

He was confirmed in this opinion when they descended below, 
where two or three sailors and ruffian- looking fellows awaited their 
commands. Ewart took llie whole direction upon himself, gave 
his orders with briefness and precision, and looked to their being 
executed with the silence and celerity which that peculiar crisis re- 
quired. All were now 7 dismissed for the brig, which lay, as Fairford 
was given to understand, a little further down the river, which is 
navigable for vessels of light burden, till almost within a mile of 
the town. 

YVheu they issued from the inn the landlord bid them good-by. 
Old Trumbull walked a little way with them, but the air had prob- 
ably considerable effect on the state of his b.ain; for after remind- 
ing Alan fairford that the next day w'as the honorable Sabbath, he 
became extremely excursive in an attempt to exhort him to keep it 
holy. At length, being perhaps sensible that he was becoming un- 
intelligible, he thrust a volume into Fairtord’s hand— hiccoughing 
at the same time — “Good book — good book— fine hymn book — fit 
for the honorable Sabbath; whilk awaits us to-morrow morning.” 
Here the iron tongue of time told five from the town steeple of 
Annan to the further confusion of Mr. TrumhuH’s already dis- 
ordered ideas. “ Ay? Is Sunday come and gone already? Heaven 
be praised! Only it is a marvel the afternoon is sae dark for the 
time of the year — Sabbath has slipped ower quietly, but we have 
reason to bless oursells it has not been altogether misemployed. 1 
heard little of the preachin'— a cauld moralist, 1 doubt, served that 
out — but, eh — the prayer— 1 mind it as if 1 had said the words my- 
sell.” Here he repeated one or two petitions, which were probably 
a part of his family devotions, before he was summoned forth to 
what he called the way of business. “ 1 never remember a Sabbath 
pass so cannily off in my life.” Then he recollected himself a little, 
and said to Alan, “ You may read that book. Mr. Fairford, to- 
morrow 7 , all the same, though it be Monday; tor, you see, it was 
Saturday when w'e were tliegilher, and now it’s Sunday and it’s 
dark night — so the Sabbath has slipped clean away through our 
fingers like w T ater through a sieve. w r hich abideth not; and we have 
to begin again to-morrow morning, in the weariful, base, mean, 
earthly employments, whilk are unworthy of an immortal spirit — 
always excepting t lie way of business. 

Three of the fellows were now returning to the towm, and, a- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


223 

Ewart’s command, they cut short tire patriarch’s exhortation, by 
leading him back to his own residence. The rest of the party then 
. proceeded to the brig, which only waited their arrival to get under 
way and drop down the river. Nanty Ewart betook himself to 
steering the brig, and the very touch of the helm seemed to dispel 
the remaining influence of tire liquor which he l:a?l drunk, since, 
through a troublesome and intricate channel, he was able to direct 
the course of his little vessel with the most perfect accuracy and 
safety. 

Alan Pairford, tor some time, availed himself of the clearness of 
the summer morning to gaze on the dimly seen shores betwixt which 
they glided, becoming less and less distinct as they receded from 
each other, until at length, having adjusted his little bundle by way 
of pillow, and wrapped around him tiie grcat-coat with which old 
Trumbull had equipped him, he stretched himself on the deck, to 
try to recover the slumber out of which he had been awakened. 
Sleep had scarce begun to settle on his eyes, ere he found something 
stirring about his person. With ready presence of mind he recol- 
lected his situation, and resolved to show no alarm until the purpose 
of this became obvious; but he was soon relieved from his anxiety, 
by finding it was only the result of Nanty’s attention to his com- 
fort, who was wrapping around him, as softly as he could, a great 
boat-cloak, in order to defend him from the morning air. 

“ Thou art but a cockerel,” he muttered, “ but ’twere pity thou 
wert knocked off the perch before seeing a little more of the sweet 
and sour of this world — though, faith, if thou hast the usual luck 
_of it, the best way were to leave thee to the chance of a seasoning 
fever.” 

These words, and the awkward courtesy with which the skipper 
of the little brig tucked the sea-coat round Fairford, gave him a con- 
fidence of safety which he had not yet thoroughly possessed. He 
stretched himself in more security on the haid planks, and was 
speedily asleep, though his slumbers were feverish and unrelresli- 
iug. 

It has been elsewhere intimated (hat Alan Fairford inherited from 
his mother a delicate constitution, with a tendency to consumption; 
and, being an only child, with such a cause for apprehension, care, 
to the verge of effeminacy, was taken to preserve him from damp 
beds, wet feet, and those various emergencies to which the Cale- 
donian boys of much higher birth, but more active habits, are gen- 
erally accustomed. In man, the spirit sustains the constitutional 
weakness, as in the winged tribes the feathers bear aloft the body. 
But there is a bound to these supporting qualities; and as the pin- 
ions of the bird must at length grow weary, so the ms animi of the 
human struggler becomes broken down by continued fatigue. 

Allien the voyager was awakened by the light of the sun now 
riding high in heaven, he found himself under the influence of an 
almost intolerable headache, with heat, thirst, shooting across the 
back and loins, and other symptoms intimating violent cold accom- 
panied with fever. The manner in which he had passed the preced- 
ing day and night, though perhaps it might have been of little con- 
sequence to most young men, was to him, delicate in constitution 


224 


REDGAUfsTLET. 


and nurture, attended with bad and even perilous consequences. 
He felt this was the case, yet would fain have combated the symp- 
toms of indisposition, which, indeed, he imputed chiefly to sea-sick- 
ness. He sat upon deck, and looked on the scene around, as the 
little vessel, having borne down the Solway Firth, was beginning, 
with a favorable northerly breeze, to bear away to the southward, 
crossing the entrance of the Wampole River, and preparing to double 
the most northerly point of Cumberland. 

But Fairford felt annoyed with deadly sickness, as well as by 
pain of a distressing and oppressive character; and neither Criffel 
rising in majesty on the one hand, nor the distant yet more pict- 
uresque outline of Skiddaw and Glaramara upon the other, could 
attract his attention in the manner in which it w r as usually fixed by 
beautiful scenery, and especially that which had in it something 
new as well as striking. Yet it was not in Alan Fairford’s nature to 
give way to despondence, even when seconded, by pain. He had 
recourse, in the first place, to his pocket; but instead of the little 
Sallust he had brought with him, that the perusal of a classical 
author might help to pass away a heavy hour, he pulled out the 
supposed hymn-book with which he had been presented a few hours 
before by that temperate and scrupulous person, Mr. Thomas Trum- 
bull, alias Turnpenny. The volume was bound in sable, and its 
exterior might have become a psalter. But what was Alan’s aston- 
ishment to read on the title-page the following words: — “ Merry 
Thoughts for Merry Men: or, Mother Midnight’s Miscellany for the 
Small Hours;” and turning over the leaves, he was disgusted with 
profligate tales, and more profligate songs, ornamented with figures 
corresponding in infamy with the letter-press. 

“ Good God!” he thought, “ and did this hoary reprobate sum- 
mon his family together, and, with such a disgraceful pledge of in- 
famy in his bosom, venture to approach the throne of his Creator? 
It must be so; the book is bound after the manner of those dedicat- 
ed to devotional subjects, and doubtless, the wretch, in his intoxica- 
tion, confounded the books he carried with him, as he did the days 
of the week ” Seized with the disgust with which the young and 
generous usually regard the vices of advanced life, Alan, having 
turned the leaves of the book over in hast}'- disdain, flung it from 
him, as far as he could, into the sea. He then had recourse to the 
Sallust, which he had at first sought for in vain. As he opened the 
book, Nanty Ewart, who had been looking over his shoulder, made 
his own opinion heard. 

“ 1 think now, brother, if you are so much scandalized at a little 
piece of sculdudderry, which, after all, does nobody any harm, you 
had better have given it to me than have flung it into the Solway.” 

“ 1 hope, sir,” answered Fairford, civilly, “ you are in the habit 
of reading better books.” 

“ Faith,” answered Nanty, “ with help of a little Geneva text, 1 
could read my Sallust as well as you can,” and snatching the book 
from Alan’s hand he began to read, in the Scottish accent: “ ‘ Igitur 
ex divitiis juventutem luxuria atque avaritia cum superbiS invasCre: 
rapere, consumere; sua parvi pendere, aliena cupere; pudorem, 
amicitiam, pudicitiam, divina atque humana promiscua, nihil pensi 


REDGAUNTLET. 


225 


neque mocierati habere.’ * There is a slap in the lace now, for an 
honest fellow that has been buccaneering! Never could- keep a 
groat of what he got, or hold his fingers from what belonged to 
another, said you? Fy, fy, Crispus, tiiy morals are as crabbed and 
austere a9 thy style — the one has as little mercy as the other has 
grace. By my soul, it. is unhandsome to make personal reflections 
on an old acquaintance, who seeks a little civil intercourse with you 
after nigh twenty years’ separation. On my soul, Master Sallust 
deserves to float on the Solway better than Mother Midnight her- 
self ” 

“Perhaps, in some respects, he may merit better usage at our 
hands,” said Alan; “ for it he has described vice plainly, it seems 
to have been for the purpose of rendering it generally abhorred.” 

“ Well,” said the seaman, “ 1 have heard of the Sortes Virgilianae, 
and 1 dare say the Sortes Sallustianse are as true every tittle. 1 have 
consulted honest Crispus on my own account, and have had a cuff 
for my pains. But now see, 1 open the book on } r our behall, and 
behold what occurs first to my eyes! Lo you there — ‘ Catilina . . . 
omnium flagitiosorum atque facinorosorum circum se habebat.’ 
And then again— 1 Etiam si quis if culpti vacuus in amicitiam ejus 
inciderat, quotidiano usu par similisque caeteris efliciebatur.’ f 
That is what 1 call plain speaking on the part of the old Roman, 
Mr. Fairford. By the way that is a capilal name for a lawyer.” 

“Lawyer as 1 am,” said Fail ford, “1 do not understand your 
innuendo.” 

“ Nay, then,” said Ewart, “ 1 can try it another way, as well as 
the hypocritical old rascal Turnpenny himself could do. 1 would 
have you to know that 1 am well acquainted with my Bible-book, 
as well as with my friend Sallust.” lie then, in a snuffling and 
canting tone, began to repeat the Scriptural text— “ ‘ David there- 
fore departed thence, and escaped to the cave of Adullam. And 
every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and 
every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him, and 
he oecame a captain over them.’ What think you of that?” he 
said, suddenly changing his manner. “ Have 1 touched you now, 
sir?” 

“ You are as far off as ever,” replied Fail ford. 

“ What the devil! and you a repeating frigate between Surrimer- 
tiees and the laird! Tell that to the marines— the sailors won’t be- 
lieve it. But you are right to be cautious, since you can’t say who 
are right, who not. But you look ill; it’s but the cold morning air. 
Will you have a can of flip, or a jorum of hot rumbo? — or will you 
splice the main brace ’’—(showing a spirit-flask). “ Will you have 


* The translation of the passage is thus given by Sir Henry Stewart, of Allan - 
ton: * The youth, taught to look up to ricnes as the sovereign good, became 
apt pupils in the school of luxury. Rapacity and profusion went hand in hand. 
Careless of their own fortunes, and eager to possess those of others, 'shame and 
remorse, modesty and moderation, every principle gave way.”— Works of Sal- 
lust , with Original Essays , vol. ii. p. 17. 

t After enumerating the evil qualities of Catiline’s associates, the Author 
adds: •• If it happened that any as yet uncontaminated by vice were fatally 
drawn into his frienship, the effects of intercourse, and snares artfully spread, 
subdued every scruple, and early assimilated them to their conductors.”— 
Ibidem , p. 19. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


226 

a quid — or a pipe— or a cigar? — a pinch ot snuff, at leasl, to clear 
your brains and sharpen your apprehension?” 

Fairford rejected all these friendly propositions. 

Why, then,” continued Ewart, “ it you will do nothing for the 
free trade, 1 must patronize it myself.” 

So saying, he took a large glass of brandy. 

“ A hair of the dog that bit me,” he continued — “ of the dog that 
will worry me one day soon; and yet, and be d — d to me for an 
idiot, 1 must always have him at my throat. But, says the old 
catch ” — here he sung, and sung well — 

“ t Let’s drink — let’s drink — while life we have, 

We’ll find but cold drinking, cold drinking in the grave.’ 

All this,” he continued, “is no charm against the headache. 1 
wisli 1 had an} r thing that could do you good. Faith, and we have 
tea and coffee aboard! L’ll open a chest or a bag, and let you have 
some in an instant. You are at the age to like such cat-lap better 
than better stuff.” 

Fairlord thanked him, and accepted his offer of tea. 

Nanty Ewart was soon heard calling about, “ Break open yon 
chest — take out your capful, you bastard of a powder-monkey; we 
may want it again. No sugar! — all used up for grog, say you? — 
knock another loaf to pieces, can’t ye — and get the kettle boiling, 
ye hell’s baby, in no time at all!” 

By dint of these energetic proceedings he was in a short time able 
to return to the place where his passenger lay sick and exhausted, 
with a cup-, or lather a can-ful of tea; for everything was on a large 
scale on board ot the “ Jumping Jenny.” Alan diank it eagerly, and 
with so much appearance of being refreshed that Nanty Ewart swore 
he would have some too, and only laced it, as his phrase went, with 
a single glass of brandy.* 


* I am sorry to say that the modes of concealment described in the imaginary 
premises of Mr. Trumbull are of a kind which have been common on the fron- 
tiers of late years. The neighborhood of the two nations having different laws, 
though united in government, still leads to a multitude of transgressions on the 
Border, and extreme difficulty in apprehending delinquents. About twenty 
years since, as far as my recollection serves, there was along the frontier an or- 
ganized gang of coiners, forgers, smugglers and other malefactors, whose oper- 
ations were conducted on a scale not inferior to what is here described. The 
chief of the party was one Richard Mendham, a carpenter, who rose to opu- 
lence, although ignorant even of the arts of reading and writing. But he had 
found a short road to wealth, and had taken singular measures for conducting 
his operations. Amongst these, he found means to build, in a suburb of Ber- 
wick, called Spittal, a street of small houses, as if for the investment of prop- 
erty. He himself inhabited one of these; another, a species of public house, 
was open to his confederates, who held secret and unsuspected commuication 
with him by crossing the roofs of the intervening houses, and descending by a 
trap-stair, which admitted them into the alcove of the dining-room of Dick 
Mendham’s private mansion. A vault, too, beneath Mendham’s stable, was ac 
cessible in the manner mentioned in the novel. The post of one of the stalls 
turned round on a bolt being withdrawn, and gave admittance to a subterrane- 
an place of concealment for contraband and stolen goods to a great extent. 
Richard Mendham, the head of this formidable conspiracy, which involved 
malefactors of every kind, was tried and executed at Jedburgh, where the Au- 
thor was present as Sheriff of Selkirkshire. Mendham had previously been 
tried, but escaped by want of proof and the ingenuity of his counsel. 


EEDGAUNTLET. 


227 


CHAPTER XIV. 

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED. 

We left Alan Fairford on the deck of the little smuggling brig, in 
that disconsolate situation when sickness and nausea attack a 
heated and levered frame, and an anxious mind. His share of sea- 
sickness, however, w r as not so great as to engross his sensations en- 
tirely, or altogether to divert his attention from what was passing 
around. If he could not delight in the swiftness and agility with 
which the “ little frigate ” walked the waves, or amuse himself by 
noticing the beauty of the sea-views aiouud him, where the distant 
Skiddaw raised his brow, as it in defiance of the clouded eminence 
of Griff el, which lorded it over the Scottish side of the estuary, he 
had spirits and composure enough to pay particular attention to the 
master of the vessel, on whose character his own safety in all prob- 
ability was dependent. 

Nauty Ewart had now given the helm to one of his people, a bald- 
pated, grizzled old fellow, whose whole life had been spent in evad- 
ing the revenue laws, with now and then the relaxation of a few 
months’ imprisonment, for deforcing officers, resisting seizures, and 
the like offenses. 

Nanty himself sat down by Fairford, helped him to his tea, with 
such other refreshments as lie could think of, and seemed in his way 
sincerely desirous to make his situation as comfi rtable as things ad- 
mitted. ” Fairford had thus an opportunity to study his countenance 
and manners more closely. 

It was plain, Ewart, though a good seaman, had not been bred 
upon that element. He was a reasonably good scholar, and seemed 
fond of showing it, by recurring to the subject of Sallust and Juv- 
enal; while, on the other hand, sea-phi ases seldom checkered his 
conversation. He had been in person what is called a smart little 
man; but the tropical sun had burned his originally fair complexion 
to a dusty red; and the bile which wa6 diffused through his system, 
had stained it with a yellowish black — what ought to have been the 
white part of his eyes, in particular, had a hue as deep as the topaz. 
Be was very thin, or rather emaciated, and his countenance, though 
still indicating alertness and activity, showed a constitution ex- 
hausted with excessive use of his favorite stimulus. 

l see you look at me hard,” said he to Fairford. “ Had you 
been an officer of the d— d customs, my terriers’ backs would have 
bqeu up.” He opened his breast, and showed Alan a pair of pistols 
disposed between his waistcoat and jacket, placing his finger at the 
same time upon the cock of one of them. But, come, you are an 
honest fellow, though you’re a close one. 1 dare say you think me 
a queer customer; but I can tell you, they that see the ship leave 
harbor, know little of the seas she is to sail through. My father, 
honest old gentleman, never would have thought to see me master 
of the ‘ Jumping Jenny.’ ” 

Fairford said, it seemed very clear indeed that Mr. Ewart’s edu- 
cation was far superior to the line he at present occupied. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


228 

“Oh, Criffel to Solway Moss!” said the other. “Why, man, I 
should have been an expounder ot the word, with a wig like a snow- 
wreath, and a stipend like— like— like a hundred pounds a year, 1 
suppose. 1 can spend thrice as much as that, though, being such 
as 1 am.” Here he sung a scrap of an old .Northumbrian ditty, 
mimicking the burr of the natives of that county: 

“ Willie Foster’s gone to sea, 

Siller buckles at his knee, 

Hell come back and marry me — 

Canny Willie Foster.” 

“ 1 have no doubt,” said Fairford, “your present occupation is 
more lucrative; but 1 should have thought the church might have 
been more—” 

He stopped, recollecting that it was not his business to say any- 
thing disagreeable. 

“ More respectable, you mean, 1 suppose?” said Ewart, with a 
sneer, and squirting the tobacco juice through his front teeth; then 
was silent for a moment, and proceeded in a tone of candor which 
some internal touch of conscience dictated. “ And so it would, 
Mr. F'airford— and happier, too, by a thousand degrees— though 1 
have had my pleasures too. But there was my father (Gi)d bless 
the old man!) a true chip oh.the old Presbyterian block, walked his 
parish like a captain on the quarter-deck, and was always ready to 
do good to rich and poor— off went the laird’s hat to the minister, 
as fast as the poor man’s bonnet. When the eye saw him — pshaw! 
what have 1 to do with that now? Yes, he was, as Virgil hath it, 

‘ Vir sapieniia et pietate gravis But he might have been the 
wiser man, had he kept me at home, when he sent meat nineteen to 
study divinity at the head ot the highest stair in the Covenant 
Close. 

“ It was a cursed mistake in the old gentleman. What though 
Mrs. Cantrips of Rittlebasket (for she wrote herself no less) was our 
cousin five times removed, and took me on that account to board 
and lodging, at six shillings, instead of seven shillings a week? it 
was a d— d hard saving, as the case proved. Yet her very dignity 
might have kept me in order; for she never read a chapter excepting 
out of a Cambridge Bible printed by Daniel, and bound in embroider- 
ed velvet. 1 think 1 see it at this moment! And on Sundays, when 
we had a quart of twopenny ale, instead of buttermilk, to our por- 
ridge, it was always served up in a silver posset dish. Also the j 
used silver-mounted spectacles, whereas even my father’s were cased 
in mere horn. These things had their impression at first, but we 
get used to grandeur by degrees. Well, sir! Gad, I can scarce get 
on with my story— it sticks in my throat — must take a trifle to wash 
it down. Well, this dame had a daughter — Jess Cantrips, a black- 
eyed, bouncing w r ench — and, as the cfevil would have it, there was 
the a— d five story stair— her foot was never from it, whether 1 
went out or came home from the Divinity Hall. 1 would have 
eschewed her, sir— 1 would, on my soul; 1 was as innocent a lad as 
ever came from Lammermuir; but there was no possibility of 
escape, retreat, or flight, unless 1 could have got a pair of wings, 
or made use of a ladder seven stories high, to scale the window of 
my attic. It signifies little talking— you may suppose how all this 


REDGAUNTLET. 


229 


was to end — I would have married the girl, and taken my chance — 
1 would by Heaven! for she was a pretty girl, and a good girl, till 
she and I met; but you know the old song, ‘ Kirk would not let us 
be.’ A gentleman in my case would have settled the matter with 
the Kiik-treasurer tor a small sum oi money; but the poor stibbler, 
the penniless dominie, having married his cousin ot Rittlebasket, 
must next have proclaimed her frailty to the whole parish, by 
mounting the throne of Presbyterian penance, and proving, as 
Othello says, ‘ his love a whore,’ in face of the whole congregation. 

“ In this extremity I dared not slay where I was, and so thought, 
to go home to my father. But first I got Jacx Hadaway, a lad 
from the same parish, and who lived in the same internal stair, to 
make some inquiries how the old gentlemau had taken the matter. 
1 soon, by way of answer, learned, to the great increase ot my com- 
fortable reflections, that the good old man made as much clamor, as 
if such a thing as a man’s eating his wedding dinner without say- 
ing grace had never happened since Adam’s time. He did nothing 
for six days but cry out, ‘ Ichabod, Ichabod, the glory is departed 
from my house!’ and on the seventh he preached a sermon, in which 
he enlarged on this incident as illustrative of one ot the great occa- 
sions for humiliation, and causes of national detection. I hope 
the course he took comforted himself— I am sure it made me 
ashamed to show my nose at home. So I went down to Leith, and 
exchanging my lioddin gray-coat of my mother’s spinning, for such 
a jacket as this, 1 entered my name at the rendezvous as an able- 
bodied landsman and sailed with the tender round to Plymouth, 
where they were fitting out a squadron for the West Indies. There 
1 was put aboard the ‘Fearnought,’ Captain Daredevil — among 
whose crew 1 soon learned to fear Satan (the terror of my early 
youth) as little as the toughest Jack on board. I had some qualms 
at first, but 1 took the remedy ” (tapping the case-bottle) “ which 1 
recommend to you, being as good tor sickness of the soul as for sick- 
ness ot the stomach— what? you won’t— very well, 1 must, then— 
here is to ye.” 

“ You would, lam afraid, find your education of little use in your 
new condition?” said Fairford. 

“ Pardon me, sir,” resumed the captain of the “ Jumping Jenny;” 
“ my handful of Latin, and small pinch of Greek, were as useless 
as old junk, to be sure; but my reading, writing, and accounting, 
stood me in good stead, and brought me forward; 1 might have 
been school-master— ay, and master, in time; but that valiant liquor, 
rum, made a conquest of me rather too often, and so, make what 
sail 1 could, I alw T ays went to leeward. We were tour years broil- 
ing in that blasted climate, and I came back at last with a little 
pnze-mone} r . 1 always had thoughts of putting things to rights in 
the Covenant Close, and reconciling myself to my father. I found 
out Jack Hadaway, who was Tuptoming away with a dozen of 
wretched boys, and a fine string of stories he had ready to regale my 
ears withal. My father had lectured on what he called ‘ my falling 
away,’ for seven Sabbaths, when, just as his parishioners began to 
hope that the course was at an end, he was found dead in his bed 
on the eighth Sunday morniDg. Jack Hadaway assured me, that if 
1 wished to atone for my errors, by undergoing the fate ot the first 


REDGAUNTLET. 


230 

martyr, 1 had only to go to mv native village, where the very 
stones of the street would rise up against me as my father’s mur- 
derer. 

“ Here was a pretty item — well, my tongue clove to my mouth for 
an hour, and was only able at last to utter the name of Mrs, Can- 
trips. Oh, this was a new theme for my Job’s comforter. My sud- 
den departure — my father’s no less sudden death —had prevented the 
payment of the arrears of my board and lodging — the landlord was 
a haberdasher, with a heart as rotten as the muslin wares he dealt 
in. Without respect to her age, or gentle kin, my Lady Kittle- 
basket was ejected from her airy habitation — her porridge-pot, silver 
posset-dish, silver-mounted spectacles, and Daniel’s Cambridge 
J3ible, sold at the Cross of 'Edinburgh, to the cadie who would bid 
highest tor them, and she herself driven to the workhouse where 
she got in with difficulty, but was easily enough lifted out, at tne 
end of the month, as dead as her friends could desire. Merry tid- 
ings this to me, who had been the d — d ” (he paused a moment) 
“ origo mali—Q ad, 1 think my confession would sound better in 
Latin than in English! 

“ But the best jest was behind— 1 had just power to stammer out 
something about Jess — by my faith he had an answer! 1 had 
taught Jess one trade, and, like a prudent girl, she had found out 
another for herself; unluckily, they were both contraband, and Jess 
Cantrips, daughter of the Lady Kittlebasket, had the honor to be 
transported to the plantations, for street-walking and pocket-picking, 
about six months before I touched shore.” 

He changed the bitter tone of affected pleasantry into an attempt 
to laugh, then drew his swarthy hand across his swarthy eyes, and 
said, in a more natural accent, “ Poor Jess!” 

There was a pause — until Pairford, pitying the poor man’s state 
of mind, and believing he saw something in him that, but for early 
error and subsequent profligacy, mighi have been excellent and 
noble, helped on the conversation by asking in a tone ot commiser- 
ation, how he had been able to enduie such a load ot calamity. 

“Why, very well,” answered the seaman; “exceedingly well — 
like a tight ship in a brisk gale. Let me recollect. 1 remember 
thanking Jack, very composedly, for the interesting and agreeable 
communication; 1 then pulled out my cauvas pouch, with my 
hoard of moidores, and taking out two pieces, 1 bid Jack keep the 
rest till I came back, as 1 was for a cruise about Auld Keekie. The 
poor devil looked anxiously, but 1 shook him by the hand, and ran 
down-stairs, in such confusion of mind that, notwithstanding what 
1 had heard, 1 expected to meet Jess at every turning. 

“ It was market-day, and the usual number of rogues and fools 
were assembled at the Cross. 1 observed everybody looked strange 
on me, and 1 thought some laughed. 1 fancy 1 had been making 
N queer faces enough, and perhaps talking to myself. When 1 saw T 
myself used in this manner, 1 held out my clinched fists straight 
before me, stooped my head, and, like a ram when he makes his 
race, darted oft right down the street, scattering groups cf weather- 
beaten lairds and periwigged burgesses, and bearing down all before 
me, 1 heard the cry ot ‘Seize the madman!’ echoed, in Celtic 
sounds, from the City Guard, with ‘ Ceaze ta malman!’ —but pur- 


REDGAIINTLET. 


23 L 

suit and opposition were in vain. 1 pursued my career; the smell 
of the sea, I suppose, led me to Leith, where, soon utter, 1 found 
myself walking very quietly on the shore, admiiing the tough 
round and sound cordage ot the vessels, and thinking how a loop, 
with a man at the end of one of them, would look by way of tassel. 

“ 1 was opposite to the rendezvous, formerly my place of refuge 
— in I bolted--found one or two old acquaintances, made half a 
dozen new ones — drank for two days— was put aboard the tender — 
off to Portsmouth — then landed at the Haslar hospital in a fine hiss- 
ing-liot fever. Never mind— I got better— nothing can kill me— the 
AVest Indies were my lot again, tor since 1 did not go where l de- 
served in the next world, 1 had something as like such quarters as 
can be had in this— black devils for inhabitants — flames and earth- 
quakes, and so forth, for your element. AY ell, brother, something 
or other I did or said— 1 can’t-tell what. How the devil should 1, 
when 1 was as drunk as David’s sow, you know? But 1 was pun- 
ished, my lad — made to kiss the wench that never speaks but when 
she scolds, and that’s the gunner’s daughter, comrade Yes, the 
minister’s son of — no matter where— has the cat’s scratch on his 
back! This roused me, and when we were ashore with the boat, I 
gave three inches of the dirk, after a stout tussle, to the fellow I 
blamed most, and so took tkedmsk for it. Tnere were plenty of 
wild lads then alongshore — and, I don’t care who knows, I went 
on the account, look you— sailed under the black flag and marrow- 
. bones— was a good friend to the sea, and an enemy to all that sailed 
on it.” 

Fairford, though uneasy in his mind at finding himself, a law- 
yer, so close to a character so lawless, thought it best, nevertheless, to 
put a good face on the matter, and asked Mr. Ewart, with as much 
unconcern as he could assume, “ whether he was fortunate as a 
rover?” 

“ No, no— d — n it, no,” replied Nanty; “ the devil a crumb of 
butter was ever churned that would stick upon my bread. There 
was no order among us — he that was captain to-day was swabber 
to-morrow; and as for plunder — they say old Avery,* and one or 
two close hunks, made money; but in my time, all went as it came; 
and reason good, tor it a fellow had saved five dollars, his throat 
would have been cut in his hammock— and then it was a cruel 
bloody work. Pah— we’ll say no more about it. I broke with them 
at last, for what they did on board ot a bit of a snow— no matter 
what it was— bad enough, since it frightened me— 1 took French 
leave, and came in upon the proclamation, so 1 am free of all that 
business. And here 1 sit, the skipper of the ‘ Jumping Jenny ’ — a 
nutshell of a thing, but goes through the water like a dolphin. If 
it were not for yon hypocritical scoundrel at Annan, who has the 
best end of the profit, and takes none ot the risk, 1 should be well 
enough — as well as 1 waut to be. Here is no lack of my best friend,” 
—touching his case- bottle: ** but, to tell ynu a secret, he and 1 have 
got so used to each other, 1 begin to think he is like a professed 


* [Captain Avery, a noted and successful pirate, who married a daughter of 
the Great Mogul, according to his biographer, Charles Johnson— see his History 

of Highwaymen , Pyrates, etc., 1734, and the earlier History of the Pyrates .] 


232 


REDGAUNTLET. 


joker, that makes your sides sore with laughing, if you see him 
but now and then; but it you take up house with him he can only 
make your head stupid. But I warrant the old fellow is doing the 
best he can for me, after all.” 

“ And what may that be?” said Fairford. 

“ He is killing me,” replied Nanty Ewart; “ and 1 am only sorry 
he is so long about it.” 

So saying, he jumped on his feet, and tripping up and down the 
deck, gave his orders with his usual clearness and decision, not- 
withstanding the considerable quantity of spirits which he had con- 
trived to swallow while recounting his history. 

Although tar from feeling well, Fairford endeavored to rouse 
liimselt and walk to the head ot the brig, to enjoy the beautiful 
prospect, as well as to take some note of the course which the ves 
sel held. To his great surprise, instead of standing across to the op- 
posite shore from which she had departed, the brig was going down 
the Firth, and apparently steering into the Irish bea. lie called to 
Nanty Ewart, and expressed his surprise at the course they were 
pursuing, and asked why they did not stand straight across the Firth 
for some port in Cumberland. 

44 Why, this is what 1 call a reasonable question, now,” answered 
Nanty; 44 as if a ship could go as straight to its port as a horse to 
the stable, or a free-trader could sail the Solway as securely as a 
king’s cutter! Why, I’ll tell ye, brother— if I do not see a smoke 
on Bowness, that is the village upon the headlaud yonder, 1 must 
stand out to sea for twenty-four hours at least, for we must keep the 
weather gauge if there are hawks abroad.” 

44 And it you do see the signal of safety, Master Ewart, what is 
to be done then?” 

“ Why, then, in that case, 1 must keep off till night, and then 
run you. with the kegs and the rest of the lumber, ashore at Skin- 
burness.” 

“ And then 1 am to meet with this same laird whom 1 have the 
letter for?” continued Fairford. 

“ That,” said Ewart, ‘ is thereafter as it may be; the ship has its 
course— the fair trader has his port — but it is not easy to say where 
the laird may be found. But he will be within twenty miles of us, 
off or on — and it will be my business to guide you to him.” 

Fairford could not withstand the passing impulse of teiror wEicli 
ciossed him, when thus reminded that he was so absolutely in the 
power of a man, who, by his own account, had been a pirate, and 
who w T as at present, in all probability, an outlaw as well as a con- 
traband trader. Nanty Ewart guessed the cause of his involuntaiy 
shuddering. 

“ What the devil should 1 gain,” he said, “ by passing so poor a 
card as you are? Have I not ace of trumps in my hand, and did I 
not play it fairly? Ay, I say the 4 Jumping Jenny’ can run in 
other ware as well as kegs. Put sigma and tau to Ewart , and see 
how that will spell. D’ye take me now?” 

44 No, indeed,” said Faiiford, 44 1 am utterly ignorant of what you 
allude to.” 

“ Now, by Jove!” said Nanty Ewart, 44 thou art either the deep- 
est or the shallowest fellow 1 ever met with — or you are not right 


REDGAUNTLET. 233 

after all. I wonder where Summertrees could pick up such a ten- 
der alongshore. Will you let me see his letter?” 

Fairfcrd did not hesitate to gratify his wish, which, he was 
aware, he could not easily resist. Tiie master of the ‘Jumping 
Jenny ’ looked at the direction very attentively, then turned the 
letter to and fro, and examined each flourish of the pen, as if he 
were judging of a piece of ornamented manuscript; then handed it 
back to Fairford, without a single word of remark. 

“ Am 1 right now?” said the young lawyer. 

“ Why, for that matter,” answered Nanty, “ the letter is right, 
sure enough, but whether you are right or not, is your own business 
rather than mine.” And striking upon a Hint with the back of a 
knife, he kindled a cigar as thick^as his finger, and began to smoke 
away with great perseverance. 

Alan Fairford continued to regard him with a melancholy feel- 
ing, divided betwixt the interest betook in the unhappy man,'and a 
not unnatural apprehension for the issue of his own adventure. 

Ewart, notwithstanding the stupefying nature of his pastime, 
seemed to guess what was working in his passenger’s mind, for, 
after they had remained some time engaged in silently observing 
each other, he suddenly dashed his cigar on the deck, and said to 
him, ‘‘Well, then, if you are sorry for me, I am sony for you. 
D — n me, if 1 have cared a button for man or mother’s son, since 
two years since, when 1 had another peep of Jack Hadaway. The 
fellow was got as fat as a Norway whale — rrarried to a great Dutch- 
built quean that had brought him six children, 1 believe lie did not 
know me, and thought 1 was come to rob his house; however I made 
up a poor face and told him who 1 was. Poor Jack would have 
given me shelter and clothes, and began to tell me of the moidores 
that were in bank, when 1 wanted them. Egad, he changed his 
note when I told him what my life had been, and only wauted to 
pay me my cash and get rid of me. 1 never saw so terrified a vis- 
age. 1 burst out a-laughing in his face, told him it was ail a hum- 
bug, and that the moidores were all his own, henceforth and for- 
ever, and so ran oft. 1 caused one of our people send him a bag 
of tea and a keg of brandy, before 1 left— poor Jack! 1 think you 
are the second person these ten years that has carried a tobacco-stop- 
per for Nauty Ewart. ” 

‘‘Perhaps, Mr. Ewart,” said Fairford, ‘‘you live chiefly with 
men too deeply interested for their own immediate safety, to think 
much upon the distress of others?” 

‘‘And with whom do you yourself consort, l.pray?” replied 
Nanty, smartly. “ Why, with plotters, than can make no plot to 
better purpose" than their own hanging; and incendiaries, that are 
snapping the flint upon wet tinder. You’ll as soon raise the dead as 
raise the Highlands— you’ll as soon get a grunt from a dead sow as 
any comfort from Wales or Cheshire. l T ou thin is. because the pot 
is boiling, that no scum but yours can come uppeimost— 1 know 
better, by — . All these rackets and riots that you think are trem- 
bling your way, have no relation at all to your interest; and the best 
way to make the whole kingdom friends again at once, would be 
the alarm of such an undertaking as these mad old fellows are try- 
ing to launch into.” 


234 


REDGAUNTLET. 


“ 1 really am not in such secrets as you seem to allude to,” said 
Faiiford; and, determined at the same time to avail himself as tar 
as possible of Kauty’s communicative disposition, he added, with a 
smile, ” And if 1 were, 1 should not hold it prudent to make them 
much the subject of conversation. But 1 am sure, so sensible a 
man as Summeitrees and the laird may correspond together with- 
out offense to Ihe state.” 

*' 1 take you, friend— 1 take you,” said Kanty Ewart, upon 
whom, at length, the liquor and tobacco-smoke began to make con- 
siderable innovation. ‘‘As to what gentlemen may or may not 
correspond about, why we may permit the question, as the old pro- 
testor used to say at the Hall; and as to Summertrees, 1 will say noth- 
ing, knowing him to be an old iox. But I say that this fellow the 
laird is a firebrand in the country; that he is stirring up all the hon- 
est fellows who should be drinking their brandy quietly, by telling 
them stories about their ancestors and the Forty-five; and that he is 
trying to turn all waters into his own iuill-dam, and to set his sails 
to all winds. And because the London people are roaring about for 
some pinches of their own, he thinks to win them to his turn with 

0 wet finger. And he gets encouragement from some, because they 
want a spell of money from him; and from others, because they 
fought tor the cause once, and are ashamed to go back; and others, 
because they have nothing to lose; and others, because they are dis- 
contented fools. But if he has brought you, or any one, 1 say not 
whom, into this scrape, with the hope of doing any good, he's a 
d— d decoy-duck, and that’s all 1 can say for him; and you are 
geese, which is worse than being decoy-ducks, or lame-ducks 
either. And so here is to the prosperity of King George the Third, 
and the true Presbyterian religion, and confusion to the Pope, the 
Devil, and the Pretender! I’ll tell you what, Mr. Fairbairn, 1 am 
but teuth owner of this bit ot a craft, the ‘ Jumping Jenny ’ — but 
tenth owner — and must sail her by my owners’ directions. But if 1 
were whole owner, 1 would not have the brig be made a ferry boat 
for your jacobitical, old-fashioned Popish riffraff, Mr. Fairport — I 
would not, by my soul; they should walk the plank, by the gods, as 

1 have seen better men do when 1 sailed under the What-d’ye- 
call-um colors. But being contraband goods, and on board my ves- 
sel, and 1 with my sailing orders in my hand, why, 1 am to forward 
them as directed— 1 say, John Roberts, keep her up a bit with the 
helm. And so, Mr. Fair weather, what 1 do is — as the d — d villain 
Turnpenny says— all in the way of business.” 

He hail been- speaking with difficulty for the last five minutes, 
and now at length dropped on the deck, fairly silenced by the 
quantity of spirits which he had swallowed, but without having 
shown any glimpse of the gayet.y, or even ot the extravagance, ot 
intoxication. 

The old sailor stepped forward and flung a sea-cloak over the 
slumberer’s shoulders, and added, looking at Fairford, “Pity ot 
him he should have this fault ; for, without it, he would have been 
as clever a fellow as ever trod a plank with ox-leatlier.” 

“ And svhat are we to do now r ?” said Fairford. 

“ Stand off and on, to be sure, till we see the signal, and then 
obey .orders.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


235 


So saying, the old man turned to his duty, and left the passenger 
lo amuse himself with his own meditations*. Presently afteiward a 
light column of smoke was seen rising from the little headland. 

“ 1 can tell you what we are to do now, master,” said the sailor. 
‘‘ We’ll stand out to sea, and then run in again with the evening 
tide, and make Skinburness; or, it there’s not light, we can run 
into the Wampool River, and put you ashore about Kirkbride or 
Leaths, with the long-boat.” 

Fairford, unwell before, felt this destination condemned him to 
an agony of many hours, which his disordered stomach and aching 
head were ill able to enduie. There was no remedy, however, but 
patience, and the recollection that he was suffering in the cause of 
friendship. As the sun rose high, he became worse; his sense of 
smell appeared to acquire a morbid degree of acuteness, for the mere 
purpose of inhaling and distinguishing all the various odors with 
which he was surrounded, from that of pitch, to all the complicated 
smells of the hold. His heart, too, throbbed under the heat, and he 
felt as if in full progress toward a high fever. 

The seamen, who were civil and attentive, considering their call- 
ing, observed his distress, and one contrived to make an awning out 
of an old sail, while another compounded some lemonade, the only 
liquor which their passenger could be prevailed upon to touch. 
After drinking it off, he obtained, but could not be said to enjoy, a 
few hours of troubled slumber. 


CHAPTER XV. 

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED. 

Alan Fairford’s spirit was more ready to encounter labor than 
his frame was adequate to support it. In spite of his exertions, 
when he awoke, after five or six hours’ slumber, he found that lie 
was so much disabled by dizziness in his head, and pains in his 
limbs, that he could not raise himself without assistance. He heard 
with some pleasure that they were now running right tor the Wam- 
pool River, and that he would be put on shore in a very short time. 
The vessel accordingly lay to, and presently showed a weft in her 
ensign, which was hastily answered by signals from on shore. Men 
and horses were seen to come down the broken path that leads to 
the shore; the latter all properly tackled for carrying their loading. 
Twenty fishing barks were pushed afloat at once, and crowded 
round the biig with much clamor, laughter, cursing, and jesting. 
Amidst all this apparent confusion there was the essential regular- 
ity. Nanty Ewart again walked his quarter-deck as it he had never 
tasted spirits in his life, issued the necessary orders with precis- 
ion, and saw them executed with punctuality. In half an hour the 
loading of the brig was in a great measure disposed in the boats; in 
a quarter of an hour more it^vas landed on the beach, and another 
interval of about the same duration was sufficient to distribute it 
on the various strings of pack-horses which waited for that purpose, 
and which instantly dispersed, each on its own proper adventure. 
More mystery was observed in loading the ship’s boat with a quan 


236 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


tity of small barrels, which seemed to contain ammunition. This 
was not done until the commercial customers had been dismissed ; 
and it was not until this was performed that Ewart proposed to 
Alan, as he lay stunned with pain and noise, to accompany him 
ashore. 

It was with difficulty that Fairford could get over the side of the 
Vessel, and he could not seat himself on the stern of the boat with- 
out assistance from the captain and his people. Nanty Ewart, who 
saw nothing in this worse than an ordinary fit of sea-s ; ckness, ap- 
plied the usual topics of consolation. He assured his passenger 
that he would be quite well by and by, when he had been half an 
hour on terra firma, and that he hoped to drink a can and smoke a 
pipe with him at Father Crackenthorp ’s, lor all that he felt a little 
out of the way for riding the wooden horse. 

“ Who is Father Crackenthorp?” said Fairford, though scarcely 
able to articulate the question. 

“ As honest a fellow as is of a thousand,” answered Nanty. “ Ah, 
how much good brandy he and I have made little of in our day! 
By my soul, Mr. Fairford, he is the prince of skinners, and the la- 
ther of the tree trade— not a stingy, hypocritical devil like olcl Turn- 
penny Skinflint, that drinks drunk on other folk’s cost, and thinks 
it sin when he has to pay for it -but areal hearty old cock;— the 
sharks have been at and about him this many a day, but Father 
Crackenthorp knew how r to trim his sails— never a warrant but he 
hears of it before the ink’s dry. He is bonus socius with lieadbor- 
ough and constable. The King’s Exchequer could not bribe a man 
to inform against him. It any such rascal were to cast up why he 
would miss his ears next morning, or be sent to seek them in the 
Solway, lie is a stateniau,* though he keeps a public; but, indeed, 
tnat is only tor convenience, and to excuse his having cellarage and 
folk about him; his wife’s a canny woman — and his daughter Doli 
too. Gad, you’ll be in port there till you get round again; and I’ll 
keep my word with you, and bring } r ou to speech of the laird. 
Gad, the only trouble 1 shall have is to get you out of the house; 
for Doll is a rare w r ench, and my dame a funny old one, and Father 
Crackenthorp the rarest companion! He’ll drink you a bottle of 
rum or brandy without starting, hut never wet his lips with the nasty 
Scottish stuff that the canting old scoundrel Turnpenny has 
brought into fashion. He is a gentlemau, every inch of him, old 
Crackenthorp; in his own way, that is; and besides, he has a share 
in the 4 Jumping Jenny,’ and many a moonlight outfit besides. He 
can give Doll a pretty penny, it he likes the tight lellow that would 
turn in with her for life.” 

In the midst of this prolonged panegyric on Father Crackenthorp, 
the boat touched the beach, the rowers backed their oars to keep 
her afloat, whilst the other fellow's jumped into the surf, and with 
the most rapid dexterity, began to hand the barrels ashore. 

“Up with them higher on the beach, my hearties,” exclaimed 
Nanty Ewart. “ High and dry— high and dry — this gear will not 
stand wetting. Now, out with our spare hand here — high and dry 


* A small landed proprietor. 


RETK4AUNTLET. 237 

with him too. What’s that? — the galloping of horse! Oh, 1 hear 
the jingle of the pack-saddles— they arc oui own folk.” 

Bp this time all the boat’s load was ashore, consisting of the little 
barrels; and the boat’s crew, standing to their arms ranged them- 
selves in front, waiting the advance of the horses which came clat- 
tering along the beach. A man, overgrown with corpulence, who 
might be distinguished in the moonlight, panting with his own ex- 
ertions, appeared at the head of the cavalcade, which consisted of 
li arses linked together, and accommodated with pack-saddles, and 
chains for securing the kegs, which made a dreadful clattering. 

“ How now, Father Crackenthorp?” said Ewart. “ Why this 
burry with your horses? We mean to stay a night with you, and 
taste your old braud}’ - , and my dame’3 home-brewed. The signal is 
up, man, and all is right.” 

“ All is wrong, Captain Kanty,” cried the man to whom he 
spoke; “ and you are the lad that is like to find it so, unless you 
bundle off —there are new brooms bought at Carlisle yesterday to 
sweep the country of you and the like of you— so you were better 
he jogging inland.” 

‘‘ How many rogues are the officers? If not more than ten, I will 
make fight. ’ ’ 

‘‘The devil you will!” answered Crackenthorp. “You were 
better not, for they have the bloody-backed dragoons from Carlisle 
witn them.” 

“ Kay, then,” said Kanty, “ we must make sail. Come, Master 
Fairford, you must mount and ride. He does not hear me — he has 
fainted, 1 believe. What the devil shall 1 do? Father Crackenthorp, 
1 must leave this }'oung fellow with } t ou till the gale blows out — 
hark ye— goes between the laird and the t’other old one; he can 
neither ride nor walk. 1 must send him up to you.” 

“ Send him up to the gallows!” said Crackenthorp; “ there is 
Quartermaster Tliwacker, with twenty men, up yonder; an he had 
not some kindness for Doll, 1 had never got hither for a start. But 
you must be off, or they will be here to seek us, for his orders are 
woundy particular; and these kegs contain worse than whisky— a 
hanging matter, 1 take it.” 

“1 wish they were at the bottom of Wampool River, with them 
they belong to,” said Kanty Ewart. “ But they are part of cargo; 
and what to do with the poor young fdlotv— ” 

“ Why, mauy a better fellow has roughed it on the grass with a 
cloak o’er him,” said Crackenthorp. “If he hath a fever, nothing 
is so cooling as the night air.” 

“ Yes, he would be cold enough in the morning, no doubt; but 
it’s a kind heart, and shall not cool so soon, if 1 can help it,” an- 
swered the captain of the “ .lumping Jenny.” 

“ TV ell, captain, an ye will risk your own neck for another man’s, 
why not take him to the old girls at Fairiadies?” 

“ What, the Miss Arthurets! The Papist jades! But never 
mind; it will do— I have known them take in a whole sloop’s crew 
that were stranded on the sands.” 

“ You may run some risk, though, by turning up to Fairiadies; 
for 1 tell you they are all up through the country.” 

“ Kever mind— 1 may chance to put some of them down again,” 


238 REBGAUNTLET. 

said Nanty, cheerfully. " Come, lads, bustle to your tackle. Are 
you all loaded?” 

‘‘Ay, ay, captain; we will be ready in a jiffy,” answered the 
gang. 

“ D — n your captains! Have you a mind to have me hanged if I 
am taken? All’s hail-fellow here.’ 

“ A sup at parting,” said Father Crackenthorp, extending a flask 
to Nanty Ewart. 

“ Not the twentieth part of a drop,” said Nanty. “ No Dutch 
courage tor me— my heart is always high enough when there’s a 
chance of fighting; besides, if 1 live drunk, I should like to die so- 
ber. Here, old Jephson — you are the best-natured brute amongst 
them — get the lad between us on a quiet horse, and we will keep 
him upright, I warrant.” 

As they raised Fairford from the ground, hegioaned heavily, and 
asked faintly where they were taking him to. 

“ To a place where you will be as snug and quiet as a mouse in 
his hole,” said Nanty, “ it so be that we can get you there safely. 
Good-by, Father Crackenthorp — ponon the quartermaster, if you 
can.” 

The loaded horses then sprung forward at a hard trot, following 
each other in a line, and every second horse being mounted by a 
stout fellow in a smock-frock, which served to conceal the arms 
with which most of these desperate men were provided. Ewart 
followed in the rear of the line, and with the occasional assistance 
of old Jephson, kept his young charge erect in the saddle. He 
groaned heavily from time to time; and Evart, more moved with 
compassion for his situation than might have been expected from 
nis own habits, endeavored to amuse him and comfort him, by some 
account of the place to which they were conveying him— his words 
of consolation being, however, frequently interrupted by the neces- 
sity of calling to his people, and many of them being lost amongst 
the rattling of the barrels, and clinking of the tackle and small 
chains by which they are secured on such occasions. 

“ And you see, brother, you will be in sate quarters at Fairladies — 
good old scrambling house— good old maids though, if they were 
not Papists. Hollo, you Jack Lowther; keep the line, can’t ye, and 

shut your rattle-trap, you broth of a ! And so, being of a good 

family, and having enough, the old lasses have turned a kind of 
saints, and nuns, and so forth. The place they live in was some 
sort of a nun-shop long ago, as they have them still in Flanders; so 
folk call them the Vestals of Fairladies: that may be or may not be; 
and 1 care not whether it be or no. Blinksop, hold your tongue, 
and be d— d! And so, betwixt great alms and good dinners, they 
are well thought of by rich and poor, and their trucking with 
Papists is looked over. There are plenty of priests, and stout young 
scholars, and such like, about the house — it’s a hive of them. More 
shame that Government send dragoons out after a few honest fel- 
lows that bring the old women of England a drop of brandy, and 
let these ragamuffins smuggle in as much Papistry and — hark!— 
was that a whistle? No, it’s only a plover. You. Jem Collier, keep 
a lookout ahead— we’ll meet them at the High Whins, or Brotthole 
bottom, or nowhere. Go a furlong ahead, 1 say, and look sharp. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


239 

These Misses Arthuret feed tbe hungry and clothe the naked, and 
such-like acts— which my poor father used to say were filthy rags, 
but lie dressed himself out with as many of them as most folk. 
D— n that stumbling horse! Father Orackenthorp should be d— d 
himself for putting an honest fellow’s neck in such jeopardy.” 

Thus, and with much more to the same purpose, Nanty ran on, 
increasing by his well intended annoyance the agon}' " of Alan 
Fairford, who, tormented by a racking pain along the back and 
loins, which made the rough trot of the horse torture to him, had his 
aching head still further rended and split by the hoarse voice of the 
sailor, close to his ear. Perfectly passive, however, he did not even 
essay to give any answer; and indeed his own bodily distress was 
now so great and engrossing, that to think of his situation was im- 
possible, even if he could have mended it by doing so. 

Their course was inland; but in what direction Alan had no 
means of ascertaining. They passed at first over heaths and sandy 
downs; they crossed more than one brook, or beck , as they called 
it in that country — some of them of considerable depth— and at 
length reached a cultivated country, divided, according to the En- 
glish fashion of agriculture, into very small fields or closes, by high 
banks, overgrown with underwood, and surmounted by hedgerow 
trees, amongst which winded a number of impracticable and com- 
plicated lanes, where the boughs projecting from the embankments 
on each side intercepted the light of the moon, and endangered the 
safety of the horsemen. But through this labyrinth the experience 
of the guides conducted them without even the slackening of their 
pace. Jn many placts, however, it was impossible for three men to 
ride abreast; and therefore the burden of supporting Alan Fairford 
fell alternately to old Jephson and to Nanty; and it was with much 
difficulty that they could could keep him upright iu his saddle. 

At length, when his powers of sufferance were quite worn out, 
and he was about to implore them to leave him to his fate in the 
first cottage or shed — or under a haystack or a hedge — or anywhere, 
so he was left at ease, Collier, who rode ahead, passed back the word 
that they were at the avenue to Fairladies — “ Was he to turn up?” 

Committing the charge of Fairford to Jephson, Nanty dashed up 
to the head of the troop and gave his orders. “ Who knows the 
house best?” 

“ Sam Skelton’s a Catholic,” said Lowther. 

“ A d— d bad religion,” said Nanty, of whose Presbyterian edu- 
cation, a hatred of Popery' seemed to be the only remnant. “ But 
1 am glad there is one amongst us, anyhow. You, Sam, being a 
Papist, know Fairladies, and the old maidens, I dare say; so do 
you fall out of line, and wait here with me; and do you. Collier, 
carry on to Walinford bottom, then turn down the beck till you 
come to the old mill, and Goodman Grist, the Miller, or old Peel- 
the-Causeway will tell you where to stow; but 1 will be up w r itk 
you before that. ” 

The string of loaded horses then struck forward at the former 
pace, wdiile Nanty, with Sam Skelton, waited by the road-side till the 
rear came up, when Jephson and Fairford joined them, and to the 
great relief of the latter, they began to proceed at an easier pace than 
formerly, suffering the gang to precede them, till the clatter and 


240 


REDGAUNTLET. 


clang attending their progress began to die away in the distance. 
They had not proceeded a pistol-shot from the place where they 
parted, when a shoit turning brought them in front of an old mold- 
ering gateway, whose heavy pinnacles were decorated in the stjde 
of the seventeenth century, with clumsy architectural ornaments; 
several of which had fallen down from decay, and lay scattered 
about, no further care having been taken than just to remove them 
out of the direct approach to the avenue. The great stone pillars, 
glimmering white in the moonlight, had some fanciful resemblance 
to supernatural apparitions, and the air of neelect all around gave 
an uncomfortable idea of the habitation to those who passed its 
avenue. 

“ There used to be no gate here,” said Skelton, finding their way 
unexpectedly stopped. 

“ But there is a gate now. and a porter, too,” said a rough voice 
from within. “ Who be you, and what do you want at this time of 
night?” 

“ We want to come to speech of the ladies — of the Misses 
Arthuret,” said Nanty; “ and to ask lodging for a sick man.” 

“ There is no speech to he had of the Misses Arthur et at this time 
of night, and you may carry your sick man to the doctor,” answered 
the fellow from within, gruffly; “ for assure as there is savor in salt, 
and scent in rosemary, you will get no entrance— put your pipes up 
and be jogging on.” 

‘Why, Dick Gardener,” said Skelton, “be thou then turned 
porter?” 

“ What, do you know who 1 am?” said the domestic, sharply. 

“ 1 know you, by your by-word,” answered the other. “ What, 
have you forgot little Sam Skelton, anil the brock in the barrel?'’ 

“No, 1 have not forgotten you,” answered the acquaintance of 
Sam Skelton; “ but my orders are peremptory to let no one up to 
the avenue this night, and therefore — ” 

“ But we are armed, and will not be kept back,” said Nanty. 
“ Hark ye, fellow, were it not better for you to take a guinea and 
let us in, than to have us break the door first, and thy pate after- 
ward? for 1 won’t see my comrade die at your door — he assured of 
that.” 

“ Why, T. dunna know,” said the fellow; “ but what cattle were 
those that rode by in such a hurry?” 

“Why, some of our folk from Bowness, Stoniecultrum, and 
thereby,” answered Skelton; “ Jack Lowtlier, and old Jephson and 
broad Will Latnplugh, and such like.” 

“ Well,” said Dick Gardener, “ as sure as there is savor in salt, 
and scent in rosemary, 1 thought it hail been the troopers from Car- 
lisle and Wigton, and the sound brought my heart to my mouth.” 

“ Had thought thou would^t have known the clatter of a cask 
from the clash of a broadsword, as well as e’er a quafler in Cum- 
berland,” said Skelton. 

“ Come, brother, less of your jaw and more of your legs, if you 
please,” said Nanty; “ every moment we stay is a moment lest. Go 
to the laaies, and tell them that Nanty Ewart, of the ‘Jumping 
Jenny,’ has brought a young gentleman, charged with letters from 
Scotland to a certain gentleman of consequence in Cumberland — 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


241 


tbat the soldiers are out, and the gentleman is very ill, and if he is 
not received at Fairladies, he must be left either to die at the gate, 
or to be taken, with all his papers about him, by the redcoats.” 

Away ran Dick Gardener with this message; and, in a tew min- 
utes, lights were seen to flit about, which convinced Fairlord, who 
was dow, in consequence ot the halt, a little restored to self-posses- 
sion, that they were traversing the lront of a tolerably large man- 
sion-house. 

“ What if thy friend, Dick Gardener, comes not back again?” 
said Jephson to Skelton. 

“ Why, then,” said the person addressed, “ 1 shall owe him just 
such a licking as thou, old Jephson, had from Dan Cooke, and will 
pay as duly and truly as he did.” 

The old man was about to make an angry reply, when his doubts 
were silenced by the return ot Dick Gardener, who announced that 
Miss Arthuiet was coming herself as tar as the gateway to speak 
with them. 

Nanty Ewart cursed, in a low tone, the suspicions of old maids 
and churlish scruples of Catholics, that made so many obstacles to 
helping a fellow creature, and wjshed Miss Artliuret a hearty rheu- 
matism or toothache as the reward of her excursion; but the lady 
presently appeared, to cut short further grumbling. She was at- 
tended by a waiting-maid with a lantern, by means of which she 
examined the party on the outside, as closely as the imperfect light, 
and the spars ot the newly erected gate, would permit. 

“ 1 am sorry we have disturbed you so late, Madam Artliuret,” 
said Nanty, “ but the case is this — ” 

“ Holy Virgin,” said she, “ why do you speak so loud? Pray, 
are you not the Captain of the ‘ Sainte Genevieve ’?” 

“ Why, ay, ma’am,” answered Ewart; “ they call the biig so at 
Dunkirk, sure enough; but along sliore here, they call her the Jump- 
ing Jenny.” 

‘“You brought over the holy Father Buonaventure, did you not?” 

“ Ay, ay, madam, 1 have brought over enough ot them black 
cattle,” answered Nanty. 

“ Fy, ty, friend,” said Miss Artliuret; “it is a pity that the 
saints should commit these good men to a heretic’s care.” 

“ Why, no more they would, ma’am,” answered Nanty, “ could 
they find a Papist lubber that knew the coast as 1 do; then 1 am 
trusty as steel to owners, and always look after cargo — live lumber 
oi dead flesh, or spirits all is one to me; and your Catholics have 
such d— d large hoods, with pardon, ma’am, that they can some- 
times hide two faces under them. But here is a gentleman dying, 
with letters about him from the Laird of Summertrees to the Laird 
ot the Lochs, as they call him, along Solway, and every minute he 
lies here is a nail in his coffin.” 

“Saint Mary! what shall we do?” said Miss Artliuret; “we 
must admit him, I thiuk, at all risks. You, Richard Gardener, 
help one of these men to carry the gentleman up to the Place; and 
you, Selby, see him lodged at the end of the long gallery. You are 
a heretic, captain, but 1 think you are trusty, and 1 know you have 
been trusted— but it you are imposing on me—” 

“ Slot 1, madam — never attempt to impose on ladies of your ex- 


242 


REDGAUNTLET. 


perience — my practice that way has been all among the young ones. 
Come, cheerily, Mr. Fairfoid — 3 ’ou will be taken good care of — tiy 
to walk.” 

Alan did so; and refreshed by his halt declared himself able to 
walk to the house with the sole assistance of the gardener. 

“ Why, that’s hearty. Thank thee, Dick, for lending him thine 
arm” — and Nanty slipped into his hand the guinea he had prom- 
ised. ‘‘Farewell, then, Mr. Fairford, and farewell. Madam 
Arthuret, for i have been loo long here.” 

So saying he and his two companions threw themselves on horse- 
back, and went oft at a gallop. Yet even above the clatter of their 
hoofs did the incorrigible Nanty hollow out the old ballad: 

“ A lovely lass to a friar came, 

To confession a-morning early;— 

‘ In what, my dear, are you to blame? 

Come, tell me most sincerely . 1 

‘ Alas ! my fault I dare not name — 

But my lad he loved me dearly. 1 " 

‘‘Holy Virgin!” exclaimed Miss Seraphina, as the unhallowed 
sounds reached her ears; “ wliafc profane heathens be these men, 
and what frights and pinches we be put to* among them! The 
saints be good to us, what a night has this been!— the like never seen 
at Fairladies. Help me to make fast the gate, Richard, and 
thou slialt coine down again to wait on it, lest there come more 
unwelcome visitors. Not that you are unwelcome, young gen- 
tleman, for it is sufficient that you need such assistance as we 
can give you, to make you welcome to Fairladies — only, another 
time would have done as well— but, hem! 1 dare say it is all foi 
the best. The avenue is none of the smoothest, sir, loox to your 
feet. Richard Gardener should have had it mown and leveled, but 
he was obliged to go on a pilgrimage to Saint Winifred’s Well, in 
Wales.” (Here Dick gave a short dry cough, which, as if he had 
found it betrayed some internal feeling, a little at variance with 
what the lady said, he converted into a muttered Sancta Winifreda , 
ora pro nobis. Miss Arthuret, meantime, proceeded)—” We never 
interfere with our servants’ vows or penances, Master Fairtord. 1 
know a very worthy father of your name, perhaps a relation. 1 
say, we never interfere with our servants’ vows. Our Lady forbid 
they should not know some difference between our service and a 
heretic's. Take care, sir, you will fall it you have not a care. 
Alas! by night and day there are many stumbling-blocks in our 
paths.” 

With more talk to the same purpose, all of which tended to show 
a charitable and somewhat silly woman, with a strong inclination 
to her superstitious devotion, Miss Arthuret entertained tier new 
guest, as stumbling at every obstacle which the devotion of his 
guide, Richard, bad left in tne path, he at last, by ascending some 
stone steps decorated on the side with griffins, or some such 
heraldic anomalies, attained a terrace extending in front of the 
Place of Fairladies; an old-fashioned gentleman’s house of some 
consequence, with its range of notched gable-ends and narrow win- 
d3ws, relieved by here and there an old turret about the size of a 
pepper-box. The door was locked, during the brief absence of the 


REDGAUNTLET. 


243 

mistress: a dim light glimmered through the sashed door of the hall, 
which opened beneath a huge stone porch, loaded with jasmine 
and other creepers. All the windows were dark as pitch. 

Miss Arthuret tapped at the door. “ Sister, Sister Angelica.” 

“ Who is there?” was answered from within; “ is it you, Sister 
Seraphina?” 

“ Yes, yes, undo the door; do you not know my voice?” 

“No doubt, sister,” said Angelica, undoing bolt and bar; “ but 
you know our charge, and the enemy is watchful to surprise us— 
incedit sicnt leo wrans, saith the breviary. Whom have you 
brought here? O sister, what have you done?” 

“It is a young man,” said Seraphina, hastening to interrupt 
her sister’s remonstrance, “ a relation, 1 believe, of our worthy Father 
Fair-ford; left at the gate by the captaiu of that blessed vessel the 
‘ Sainte Genevieve ' — almost dead— and charged with dispatclieB 
to-” 

She lowered her voice as she mumbled over the last words. 

“Nay, then, there is no help,” said Angelica; “but it is un- 
lucky.” 

During this dialogue between ihe vestals of Faitladies, Dick 
Gardener deposited his burden in a chair, where the young lady, 
after a moment of hesitation, expressing a becoming reluctance to 
touch the hand of a stranger, put her linger and thumb upon Fair- 
ford’s wrist, and counted his pulse. 

“ There is fever her, sister,” she said; “ Richard must call Am- 
brose, and we must send some of the febrifuge.” 

Ambrose arrived presently, a plausible and respectable-looking 
old servant, bred in the family, and who had risen from rank to 
rank in the Arthuret service, till he was become half physician, 
half almoner, half butler, aud entire governor; that is, when the 
Father Confessor, who frequently eased him of the toils of govern- 
ment, chanced to be abroad. Under the direction, and with the 
assistance of this venerable personage, the unlucky Alan Fairford 
was conveyed to a decent apartment at the end of a long gallery, 
and, to his inexpressible relief, consigned to a comfortable bed. 
He did not attempt to resist the prescription of Mr. Ambrose, who 
not only presented him with the proposed draught, but proceeded 
so far as to take a considerable quantity of blood from him, by 
which last operation he prpbably did his patient much service. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED. 

On the next morning, when Fairford awoke, after no very re- 
freshing slumbers, iu which were mingled many wild dreams of his 
father, and of Darsie Latimer — of the damsel in the green mantle, and 
the vestals of Fairladies — of drinking small beer with Nanty Ewart, 
and being immersed in the Solway with the “Jumping Jenny,” 
— he found himselt in no condition to dispute the order of Mr. 
Ambrose, that he should keep his bed, from which, indeed, he could 
not have raised himself without'assistance. He became sensible 
that his anxiety and his constant efforts for some days past, had 


244 


REDGAUNTLET. 


been too much for his health, and that, whatever might be his im- 
patience, he could not proceed in his undertaking until his strength 
was re-established. 

In the meanwhile, no better quarters could have been found for 
an invalid. The attendants spoke under their breath, and moved 
only on tiptoe — nothing was done unless par ordonnance du 
medecin — Esculapius reigned paramount in the premises at Fair- 
ladies. Once a day, the ladies came in great state to wait upon 
him, and inquire after his health, and it was then that Alan’s nat- 
ural civility, and the thankfulness which he expressed for their 
timely and charitable assistance, raised him considerably in their 
esteem. He was on the third day removed to a better apaitment 
tbau that in which he had been at first accommodated. 'When he 
was permitted to drink a glass of wine, it was of the first quality; 
one ot those curious old-fashioned cob-webbed bottles being pro- 
duced on the occasion, which are only to be found in the crypts of 
old country seats, where they may have lurked undisturbed for 
more than half a century. 

But however delightful a residence for an invalid, Fairladies, as 
its present inmate became soon aware, was not so agreeable to a 
convalescent. When he dragged himself o the window so soon as 
he could crawl from bed, behold it was closely grated, and com- 
manded no view except of a little paved court. H his was nothing 
remarkable, most old Border houses having their windows so 
secured. But then Fairford observed, that whosoever entered or 
left the loom, always locked the' door with great care and circum- 
spection; and some proposals which he made to take a walk in the 
gallery, or even in the garden, were so coldly received, both by the 
ladies" and their prime minister, Mr. Ambrose, that he saw plainly 
such an extension of his privileges as a guest would not be per- 
mitted. 

Anxious to ascertain whether this excessive hospitality would per- 
mit him his proper privilege of free-agency, he announced to this im- 
portant functionary, with grateful thanks tor the care with which 
lie had been attended, his purpose to leave Fairladies next morning, 
requesting only as a continuance of the favors with which he had 
been loaded, the loan ot a horse to the next town; and, assuring 
Mr. Ambrose that his gratitude would not be limited by such a 
trifle, he slipped three guineas into his hand, by way of seconding 
bis proposal. The fingers of that worthy domestic closed so natu- 
rally upou the honorarium , as if a degree in the learned faculty 
had given him a right to clutch it: but his answer concerning 
Alan’s proposed departure was at first evasive, and when he was 
pushed, it amounted to a peremptory assurance that he could not 
be permitted to depart to-morrow; it was as much as his life was 
worth, and his ladies would not authorize it. 

“ 1 know best what my own life is worth,” said Alan, “ and 1 
do not value it in comparison to the business which requires my 
instant attention.” 

Receiving still no satisfactory answer from Mr. Ambrose, Fair- 
ford thought it best lo state his resolution to the ladies themselves, 
in the most measured, respectful, and grateful terms; but still such as 
expressed a firm determination to depart on the morrow, or next 


REDGAUNTLET. 


245 


day at furthest. After some attempts to induce liitn to stay, on the 
alleged score of health, which were so expressed that lie 'was con- 
vinced they were only used to delay his departure, Fairford plainly 
told them that he was intrusted wi‘li dispatches of consequence to 
the gentleman known by the name of Berries, Bedgauntlet, and 
the Laird of the Lochs; and that it was matter of life and death to 
deliver them early. 

“ I dare sa.y, Sister Angelica,” said the elder Miss Arthuret, 
“ that the gentleman is honest; and if he is really a relation of Fa- 
ther Fairford, we can run no risk.” 

“ Jesu Maria!” exclaimed the younger. “Oh, fie, Sister Sera- 
phina! Fie, fie! — Vade retro — get thee behind me!” 

“ Well, well; but Sister— Sister Angelica— let me speak with you 
in the gallery.” 

So out the ladies rustled in tfieir silks and tissues, and it was a 
good half hour ere they rustled in again, with impoitance and awe 
on their countenances. 

“ To tell the truth, Mr. Fairford, the cause of our desire to delay 
is— there is a religious gentleman in this house at present—” 

“ A most excellent person indeed!” — said the Sister Angelica. 

“An anointed of his Master!” echoed Seraphina — “and we 
should be glad that, for conscience’ sake, you would hold some 
discourse with him before your departure.” 

"Oho!” thought Fairford, “the murder is- out— here is a de- 
sign of conversion! — 1 must not affront the good ladies, but 1 shall 
soon send oft the priest, 1 think.” He then answered aloud, “ that 
he should be happpy to converse with uny friends of theirs — that 
in religious matters he had the greatest respect for every modifica- 
tion of Christianity, though, he must say, his belief was made up 
to that in which be had been educated; nevertheless, if his seeing 
the religious person they recommended could in the least show his 
respect— ’ ’ 

"It is not quite that,” said Sister Seraphina, “although 1 am 
sure the day is too short, to hear him — Father Buonaventure, T mean 
— speak upon the concerns of our souls; but—” 

" Come, come, Sister Seraphina,” said the younger, “ it is need- 
less to talk so much about it. His — his Eminence— 1 mean Father 
Buonaventure — will himself explain what he wants this gentleman 
to know.” 

" His Eminence?” said Fairford. surprised — “ Is this gentleman 
so high in the Catholic Church? The title is given only to cardi- 
nals, 1 think.” 

“ He is not a cardinal as yet,” answered Seraphina; “but I 
assure you, Mr. Fairford, he is as high in rank as he is eminently 
endowed with good gifts, and — ” 

“ Come away,” said Sister Angelica. “Holy Virgin, how you 
do talk! What has Mr. Fairfoid to do with Father Buouaventure’s 
rank? Only, sir, you will remember that the Father has been 
always accustomed to be treated with the most profound deference, 
indeed — ” 

“ Come away, sister,” said Sister Seraphina, in ner turn: “ who 
talks now, 1 pray you? Mr. Fairfoid will know how to comport 
himself.” 


246 


REDGAUNTLET. 


“ And we had best both leave the room,” said the younger lady, 
“ tor here his Eminence comes.” 

She lowered her voice to a whisper as she pronounced the last 
winds; and as Fairford was about to reply, by assuring her that 
any friend ot hers should be treated by him with all the ceremony 
he could expect, she imposed silence on him, by' holding up her 
finger. 

A solemn and stately step was now heard in the gallery; it might 
have proclaimed the approach not merely of a bishop or cardinal, 
but of the Sovereign Pontiff himself. Nor could the sound have 
been more respectfully listened to by the two ladies, had it an- 
nounced that the Head of the Church was approaching in person. 
They drew themselves, like sentinels on duty, one on each side of 
the door by which the long gallery communicated with Fairford’s 
apartment, and stood there immovable, and with cDuntenances ex- 
pressive of the deepest reverence. 

The approach of Father Buonaventure w T as so slow, that Fairford 
had time to notice all this, and to marvel in his mind what wily and 
ambitious priest could have contrived to subject his worthy but 
simple-minded hostess to such superstitious trammels. Father 
Buonaventure’s entrance and appearance iu some degree accounted 
for the whole. 

He was a man of middle life, about forty, or upward; but either 
care, or fatigue, or indulgence, had brought on the appearance of 
premature old age, and given to his fine features a cast of serious- 
ness or even sadness. A noble countenance, however, still remained; 
and though his complexion was altered, and wrinkles stamped upon 
his brow in many a melancholy told, still thelofty forehead, and full 
and well-opened eye, and the well- formed nose, showed how hand- 
some in better days he must have been, lie was tall, but lost the 
advantage ot his height by stooping; and the cane which be wore 
always in bis band, and occasionally used, as w T ell as bis slow 
though majestic gait, seemed to intimate that bis form and limbs 
felt already some touch of infirmity. The color of his hair could 
not be discovered, as, according to the fashion, lie wore a periwig. 

He was handsomely though gravely dressed in a secular habit, 
and had a cockade in his hat; circumstances which did not surprise 
Fairford, who knew that a military disguise was very often as- 
sumed by the seminary priests, whose visits to England, or resi- 
dence there, subjected them to legal penalties. 

As this stately person entered the apartment, the two ladies fac- 
ing inward, like soldiers on tlieir post when about to salute a superior 
officer, dropped on either hand of the father a courtesy so profound, 
that the hoop petticoats which performed the feat seemed to sink 
down to the very floor, nay, through it, as if a trap-door had opeued 
for the descent of the dames who performed this act of reverence. 

The father seemed accustomed to such homage, profound as it 
was; he turned his person a little way first toward one sister, and 
then toward the other, while with a gracious inclination of his per- 
son, which certainly did not amount to a bow. he acknowledged 
their courtesy. But he passed forward without addressing them, 
and seemed, by doing so, to intimate that their presence in the apart- 
ment was unnecessary. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


247 

They accordingly glided out of the room, retreating backward, 
with hands clasped and- eyes cast upward, as if imploring blessings 
on the religious man whom they venerated so highly. The door of 
the apartment was shut alter them, but not before Fairford had per- 
ceived that there were one or two men in the gallery, and that, con- 
trary to what he had before observed, the door, though shut, was 
not locked on the outside. 

“ Can the good souls apprehend danger from me to this god of 
their idolatry?” thought Fairford. But he had no time to make 
further observations, for the stranger had already reached the mid- 
dle ot his apartment. 

Fairford rose to receive him respectfully, but as he fixed his eyes 
on the visitor, he thought that the father avoided hi3 looks. His 
reasons for remaining incognito were cogent enough to account 
for this, and Fairford hastened to relieve him, by looking downward 
in his turn; but when again he raised his face, he found the broad 
light eye of !he stranger so fixed on him, that he was almost put 
out of countenance by the steadiness ot his gaze. During this time 
they remained - standing. 

“ Take your seat, sir,” said the father; ‘‘ j'ou have been an in- 
valid.” 

He spoke with the tone of one who desires an interior to be 
seated in his presence, and his voice was full and melodious. 

Fairford, somewhat surprised to find himself overawed by the 
airs of superiority which could be only properly exercised toward 
one over wnom religion gave the speaker influence, sat down at his 
bidding, as if moved b}' springs, and was at a loss how to assert the 
footing of equality on which he felt that they ought to stand. The 
stranger kept the advantage which he had obtained. 

“ Your name, sir, 1 am informed, is Fairford?” said the father. 

Alan answered by a bow. 

“ Called to the Scottish bar,” continued his visitor. “ There is, 
1 believe, in the West, a family of birth and raDk called Fairford of 
Fairford.” 

Alan thought this a strange observation from a foreign ecclesiastic, 
as his name intimated Father Buonaventure to be; but only an- 
swered he believed there was such a family. 

“ Do j T ou count kindred with them, Mr. FairfordF' continued 
the inquirer. 

“ I have not the honor to lay such a claim,” said Fairford. ” My 
father’s industry has raised his family from a low and obscure 
situation— I have no hereditary claim to distinction ot any kind. 
May 1 ask the cause ot these inquiries?” 

” You will learn it presently,” said Father Buonaventure, who 
had given a dry and dissatisfied hem at the young man’s acknowl- 
edging a plebeian descent. He then motioned to him to be silent, 
and proceeded with his queries. 

“ Although not ot condition, you are doubtless, by sentiments 
and education, a man of honor and a gentleman?” 

” 1 hope so, sir,” said Alan, coloring with displeasure. “ I have 
not been accustomed to have it questioned.” 

“ Patience, young man,” said the unpeiturbed querist—” we are 
on serious business, and no idle etiquette must prevent its being dis- 


248 


REDGAUNTLET. 


cussed seriously. You are probably aware, that you speak to a per- 
son proscribed by the severe and unjust laws of the present Govern- 
ment?” 

“ 1 am aware of the statute 1700, chapter 3, ” said Alan, “ banish- 
ing from the realms priests and trafficking Papists, and punishing 
by death, on summary conviction, any such person who, being so 
banished, may return. But 1 have no means of knowing you, sir, 
to be one of those persons; and I think your prudence may recom- 
mend to you to keep your own counsel.” 

“ It is sufficient, sir; and 1 have no apprehensions of disagreeable 
consequences from your having seen me in this house,” said the 
priest. 

“ Assuredly no,” said Alan. “ 1 consider myself as indebted for 
my life to the mistresses of Fairladies; and it would be a vile re- 
quital on my part to pry into or to make known what 1 may have 
seen or heard under this hospitable roof. If 1 were to meet the 
Pretender himself in such a situation, he should, even at the risk of 
a little stretch io my loyalty, be free from any danger from my in- 
discretion.” 

“The Pretender!” said the priest, with some angry emphasis; 
but immediately softened his tone and added, “ No doubt, however, 
that person is a pretender; and some people think his pretensions 
are not ill founded. But before running into politics, give me leave 
to say, that 1 am surprised to find a gentleman of. your opiuions in 
habits of intimacy with Mr. Maxwell of Smnniertrees and Mr. Red- 
gauntlet, and the medium of conducting the intercourse betwixt 
them.” 

“Pardon me, sir,” replied Alan Fairford; “ 1 do not aspire to 
the honor of beiftg reputed their confidant or go-between. My con- 
cern with those gentlemen is limited to one matter of business, dear- 
ly interesting to me, because it concerns the safety— perhaps the life 
— of my dearest friend.” 

“ Would you have any objection to intrust me with the cause of 
your journey?” said Father Buonaventure. ‘‘My advice may be 
of serv'ce to you, and my influence with one or both these gentle- 
men is considerable.” 

Fairford hesitated a moment, and hastily revolving all circum- 
stances, concluded that he might perhaps receive some advantage 
from propitiating this personage; while, on the other hand, he en- 
dangered nothing by communicating to him the occasion of his 
journey. He, therefore, after stating shortly, that he hoped Mr. 
Buonaventure would render him the same confidence which he 
required on his part, gave a short account of Darsie Latimer— of 
the mystery which hung over his family — and of the disaster which 
had befallen him. Finally, of his own resolution to seek for his 
friend, and to deliver him, at the peril of his own life. 

The Catholic priest, whose manner it seemed to be to avoid all 
conversation which did not arise from his own express motion, made 
no remarks upon wliat he had heard, but only asked one or two 
abrupt questions, where Alan’s narrative appeared less clear to him; 
then rising from his seat, he took two turns through the apartment, 
muttering between his teeth, with emphasis, the word “ Madman!” 
But apparently he was in the habit of keeping all violent emotions 


REDGAUNTLET. 249 

under restraint; lor he present!}" addressed Fairlord with the most 
perfect indifference. 

“If,” said lie, “ you thought you could do so without breach of 
confidence, 1 wish you would have the goodness to show me the 
; letter of Mr. Maxwell of Summer! rees. 1 desiie to look particu- 
larly at the address.” 

Seeing no cause to decline this extension of his confidence, Alan, 
without hesitation, put the letter into his hand. Having turned it 
round as old Trumbull and Nanty Ewart had lormerly done, and, 
like them, having examined the address with much minuteness, he 
asked whether he had observed these words, pointing to a pencil- 
writing upon the under side of the letier. Fairford answered in the 
negative, and, looking at the letter, read with surprise, “ Cave ne 
htevas BelleropJiontis adferres /” a caution which coincided so ex- 
actly with the Provost’s admonition, that he would do well to inspect 
the letter of which he was the bearer, that he was about to spring 
up and attempt an escape, he knew not -wherefore, or from whom. 

“ Sit still, young man,” said the father, with the same tone of 
authority which reigned in his whole manner, although mingled with 
stately courtesy. “ You are in no danger — my character shall be a 
pledge for your safely. By whom do you suppose these words have 
been written?” 

Fairford could have answered, “ by Nanty Ewart;” for he remem- 
gbered seeing that person scribble something with a pencil, although 
he was not well enough to observe with accuracy, where or upon 
what. But not knowing what suspicions, or what worse conse- 
quences, the seaman’s interest in his affairs might draw upon him, 
he judged it best to answer that he knew not the hand. 

Father Buonaventure wa9 again silent for a moment or two, 
which he employed in surveying the letter with the strictest atten- 
tion; then stepped to the window, as if to examine the address and 
writing of the envelope with the assistance of a stronger light, and 
Alan Fairford beheld him, with no less amazement than high dis- 
pleasure, coolly and deliberately break the seal, open the letter, and 
peruse the contents. 

“ Stop, sir, hold!” he exclaimed, so soon as his astonishment per- 
mitted him to express his resentment in words; “ by what right do 
you dare — ” 

“ Peace, young gentleman,” said the father, repelling him with a 
wave of the hand; “ be assured 1 do not act without warrant— noth- 
ing can pass betwixt Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Kedgauntlet that 1 am 
not fully entitled to know.” 

“It may be so,” said Aian, extremely angry; “ but though you 
mav be these gentlemen’s father confessor, you are not miue; and 
in breaking the seal of a letter intrusted to my care, you have done 
me — ” 

“No injury, ]. assure you,” answered the unperturbed priest; 
“ on the contrary, it may be a service.” 

“ 1 desire no advantage at such a rate, or to be obtained in such a 
manner,” answered Fairford: “restore me the letter instantly, 
or—” 

“ As you regard your own safety,” said the priest, “ forbear all 
injurious expressions, and all menacing gestures. 1 am not one 


250 


REDGAUNTLET. 


who can be threatened or insulted with impunity; and there are 
enough within healing to chastise any injury or affront ottered to 
me, in case I may think it unbecoming to piotect or avenge myselt 
with my own hand.” 

In saying this, the father assumed an air of such fearlessness and 
calm authority, that the young lawyer, surprised and overawed, 
forbore, as he had intended, to snatch the letter from his hand, and 
confined himselt to bitter complaints of the impropriety of his con 
duct, and of the light in which he himself must be placed to Red- 
gauntlet, should he present him a letter with a broken seal. 

*• That,” said Father Buonaventure, ” shall be fully cared for. 

1 will myself write to Redgauntlet, and inclose Maxwell’s letter, - 
provided always you continue to desire to deliver it, after perusing 
the contents. ” 

He then restored the letter to Fairford, and, observing that he 
hesitated to peruse it, said emphatically, “ Read it, for it concerns 
you.” 

This recommendation, joined to what Provost Crosbie had for- 
merly recommended, and to the warning which he doubted not 
that iSianty intended to convey by his classical allusion, decided 
Fairford’s resolution. ” It these correspondents,” he thought, “ are 
conspiring against my person, 1 have a right to counterplot them; 
self preservation, as well as my friend’s safety, requires that 1 should 
not be too scrupulous.” 

So thinking, he lead the letter, which was in the following * 
words: — 

“ Dear Rugged and Dangerous,— Will you never cease merit- 
ing your old nickname? You have springed your dottrel, 1 find, ' 
and what is the consequence? — why, that there will be hue and cry | 
after you presently. The bearer is a pert young lawyer, who has 
brought a formal complaint against you, which, luckily, he has pre- 
ferred in a friendly court. Yet, favorable as the judge was disposed * 
to be, it was with the utmost difficulty that Cousin Jenny and 1 
could keep him to his tackle. He begins to be timid, suspicious, J 
and untractable, and 1 fear Jenny will soon bend her brows on him 
in vain. 1 know not what to advise— the -lad who carries this is a 
good lad--ac1ive for his friend— and 1 have pledged my honor he 
shall have no personal ill usage— pledged my honor, remark these ‘i 
words, and remember 1 can be rugged and dangerous as well as my 
neighbors. But l have not insured him against a short captivity, - 
and as he is a stirring active fellow, 1 see no remedy, but keeping 

him out of the way till this business of the good Father B is 

safely blown over, which God send it were! ** Alwa} T s thine, even 
should 1 be once more 

“ Craig-in-Peril.” 

“ What think you, young man, of the danger you have been 
about to encounter so willingly?” 

“ As strangely,” replied Alan Fairford, “ as of the extraordinary 
means which you have been at present pleased to use for tiie discov- 
ery of Mr. Maxwell’s pin pose.” 

“ Trouble not yourself to account tor my conduct,” said the 


KEDGAUNTLET. 25 L 

father; “ I have a warrant for what I do, and I fear no responsi- 
bility. But tell me what is 3 T our present purpose.” 

“ 1 should not perhaps name it to you, whose own safety may be 
implicated.” 

“ 1 understand you,” answered the father; “you would appeal 
to the existing Government? That can at no rate be permitted — we 
will rather detain you at Fairladies by compulsion.” 

“You will probably,” said Fairford, “ first weigh the risk of 
such a proceeding in a free country.” 

“ 1 have incurred more formidable hazard.” said the priest, smil- 
ing; “yet I am willing to find a milder expedient. Come; let us 
bring the matter to a compromise.” And he assumed a conciliating 
graciousness of manner, which struck Fairford as being rather too 
condescending for the occasion; “ 1 presume you will be satisfied to 
remain here in seclusion for a day or two longer, provided 1 pass 
my solemn word to you that you shall meet with the person whom 
you seek after — meet with him in perfect safety, and, 1 trust, in 
good health, and be afterward both at liberty to return to Scotland, 
or dispose of yourselves as each of you may be minded?” 

“ 1 respect the verbum sacerdotis as much as can reasonably be 
expected from a Protestant,” answered Fairford; “but methinks, 
you can scarce expect me to repose so much confidence in the word 
of an unknown person, as is implied in the guarantee which you 
offer me.” 

“ 1 am not accustomed, sir,” said the father, in a very haughty 
tone, “ to have my word disputed. But,” he added, while the angry 
hue passed from his cheek, after a moment’s reflection, “ you know 
me not, and ought to be excused. L will repose more confidence in 
your honor than you seem willing to rest upon mine; and since we 
are so situated that one must rely upon the other’s faith, 1 will cause 
you to be set presently at liberty, and furnished with the means of 
delivering your letter as addressed, provided that now, knowing the 
contents, you think it safe for yourself to execute the commission.” 

Alan Fairford paused. “ 1 can not see,” he at length replied, 
“ how 1 can proceed with respect to the accomplishment of my sole 
purpose, which is the liberation of my friend, without appealing to 
the law, and obtaining the assistance of a magistrate. If 1 present 
this singular letter of Mr. Maxwell, with the contents of which I 
have become so unexpectedly acquainted, 1 shall only share his 
captivity.” 

“And if you apply to a magistrate, young man, you will bring 
ruin on these hospitable ladies, to whom, in all human probability, 
you owe your life. You can not obtain a warrant for your purpose 
without giving a clear detail of all the late scenes through which 
you have passed. A magistrate would oblige you to give a complete 
account of yourself, before arming you with his authority against a 
third party; and in giving such an account, the safety of these ladies 
will necessarily be compromised. A hundred spies have had, and 
still have, their eyes upon this mansion; but God will protect his 
own.” He crossed himself devoutly, and then proceeded. “You 
can take an hour to think of your best plan, and 1 will pledge my- 
self to forward it thus tar, provided it be not asking you to rely 
more on my word than your prudence can warrant. You shall go 


252 


REDGAUNTLET. 


to Redgauntlet— I name liim plainly, to show my confidence in you 
— and you shall deliver him this letter of Mr. Maxwell’s, with one 
from me, in which 1 will enjoin him to set jour friend at liberty or 
at least to make no attempts upon your own person, either by de- 
tention or otherwise. If you can trust me thus tar,” he said, with 
a proud emphasis on the words, ” I will on my side see you depart 
from this place with the most perfect confidence that you will not 
return armed with powers to drag its inmates to destruction. You 
are young and inexperienced— bred to a profession also which 
sharpens suspicion, and gives false views of human nature. I have 
seen much of the world, and have known better than most men how 
far mutual confidence is requisite in managing affairs of conse- 
quence.” 

He spoke with an air of superiority, even of authority, by which 
Fairtord, notwithstanding his own internal struggles, was silenced 
and overawed so much that it was not till the father had turned to 
leave the apartment that he found words to ask him what the con- 
sequences would be should he decline to depart on the terms pro- 
posed. 

“ You must then, for the safety of all parties, remain for some 
days an inhabitant of Fairladies, where we have the means of de- 
taining you, which self-preservation will in that case compel us to 
make use of. Your captivity will be short; for matters can uot 
long remain as they are. The cloud must soon rise, or it must sink 
upon us forever. Benedict# !” 

With these words he left the apartment. 

Fairford, upon his departure, felt himself much at a loss what 
course to pursue. His line of education, as well as his father’s 
tenets in matters of church and state, had taught him a holy horror 
for Papists, and a devout belief in whatever had been said of the i 
punic faith of Jesuits, and of the expedients of mental reservation, 
by which the Catholic priests in general were supposed to evade 
keeping faith with heretics. Yet there was something of majesty, | 
depressed indeed, and overclouded, but still grand and imposing, in 
the manner and words of Father Buonaventure, which it was diffi- J 
cult to reconcile with those preconceived opinions which imputed 
subtlety and fraud to his sect and order. Above all, Alan was 
aware that if he accepted not his freedom upon the terms offered 
him, he was likely to be detained by force; so that, in every point - 
of view, he was a gainer by accepting them. 

A qualm, indeed, came across him, when he considered, as a law- ‘ 
yer, that his father was probably, in the eye of the law, a traitor; 
and that there was an ugly crime on the Statute Book, called. Mis- 
prision of Treason. On the other hand, whatever he might think 
or suspect, he could not take upon him to say that the man was a 
priest, whom he had never seen in the dress of his order, or in the 
act of celebrating mass; so that he felt himself at liberty to doubt 
of that respecting which he possessed no legal proof. He therefore 
arrived at the conclusion that he would do well to accept his liberty, 
and proceed to Redgauntlet under the guarantee of Father Buona- 
venture, which he scarcely doubted would be sufficient to save him 
from personal inconvenience. Should he once obtain speech of that 
gentleman, he felt the same confidence as formerly that he might 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


253 

be able to convince him of the rashness of his conduct, should he 
not consent to liberate Darsie Latimer. At all events he should 
learn where his friend was, and how circumstanced. 

Having thus made up his mind, Alan waited anxiously for the 
expiration of the hour which had been allowed him for deliberation. 
He was not kept on the tenter- hooks of impatience an instant longer 
than the appointed moment arrived, for, even as the clock struck, 
Ambrose appeared at the door of the gallery, and made a sign that 
Alan should follow him. He did so, and after passing through 
some of the intricate avenues common in old houses, was ushered 
into a small apartment, commodiously fitted up, in which he found 
Father Buonaventure reclining on a couch, in the attitude of a man 
exhausted by fatigue or indisposition. On a small table beside him, 
a silver embossed salver sustained a Catholic book of prayer, a small 
flask of medicine, a cordial, and a little teacup of old china. Am- 
brose did not enter the room — he onty bowed profoundly, and closed 
the door with the least possible noise, so soon as Fairford had en- 
tered. 

“ Sit down, young man,” said the father, with the same air of 
condescension which had before surprised, and rather offended Fair- 
ford. “ You have been ill, and 1 know too well by my own case 
that indisposition requires indulgence. Have you,” lie continued, 
so soon as he saw him seated, “ resolved to remain or to depart?” 

“To depart,” said Alan, ‘‘under the agreement that you will 
guarantee my safety with the extraordinary person who has con- 
ducted himself in such a lawless manner toward my friend, Darsie 
Latimer.” 

“ Do not judge hastily, young man,” replied the father. ” Bed- 
gauntlet has the claims of a guardian over his ward, in respect to 
the young gentleman, and a right to dictate his place of residence, 
although he may have been injudicious in selecting the means by 
which he thinks to enforce his authority.” 

“ His situation as an attainted person abrogates such rights,” said 
Fairford, hastily. 

“ Surely,” replied the priest, smiling at the young lawyer’s readi- 
ness; “ in the eye of those who acknowledge the justice of the at- 
tainder — but that do not 1. However, sir, here is the guarantee — 
look at its contents, and do not again carry the letters of Uriah.” 

Fairford read these words : — 

“ Good Friend, — We send you hither a young man desirous to 
know the situation of your ward, since he came under your paternal 
authority, and hopeful of dealing with you for having your relative 
put at large. This we recommend to your prudence, highly disap- 
proving, at the same time, of any force or coercion, when such can 
be avoided, and wishing, therefore, that the bearer’s negotiation may 
be successful. At all rates, however, the bearer hath our pledged 
word for his sdMy and freedom, which, therefore, you are to see 
strictly observed, as you value our honor and your own. We fur- 
ther wish to converse with you, with as small loss of time as may 
be, having matters of the utmost eonfidence to impart. Jb'or this 
purpose we desire you to repair thither with all haste, and thereupon 
we bid you heartily farewell. P. B.” 


EEDGAUNTLET. 


254 

“ You will understand, sir,” said the father, when he saw that 
Alan had perused the letter, “ that, by accepting charge of this 
missive, you bind yourself to try the effect of it before having re- 
course to any legal means, as you term them, for your friend’s re- 
lease. ’ ’ 

“There are a few ciphers added to this letter,” said Fairford, 
when he had perused the p.iper attentively—” may I inquire what 
their import is?” 

“ They respect my own affairs,” answered the father, brieffy; 
“ and have no concern whatever with yours.” 

‘ It seems to me, however,” replied Alan, “ natural to suppose — ” 

“ INotliing must be supposed incompatible with my honor,” re- 
plied the priest, interrupting him; “ when sucn as 1 am confer 
favors, we expect that they shall be accepted with gratitude, or de- 
clined with thankful respect — not questioned or discussed.” 

“ 1 will accept your letter, then,” said Fairford, after a minute’s 
consideration, “ and the thanks you expect shall be most liberally 
paid, if the result answer what you teach me to expect.” 

“ God only commands the issue,” said Father Buonaventure. 
“ Man uses means. You understand that, by accepting this com- 
mission, you engage yourself in honor to tr} r the effect of my letter 
upon Mr. Redgauntlet before you have recourse to informations or 
legal wari ants?” 

“ I hold myself bound, as a man of good faith and honor, to do 
so,” said Fairford. 

“ Well, 1 trust you,” said the father. “ I will now tell you that 
an express, dispatched by me last night, has, I hear, brought Red- 
gauntlet to a spot many miles nearer this place, where he will not 
find it sate to attempt any violence on your friend, should he be 
rash enough to follow the advice of Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees 
rather than my commands. We now understand each other.” 

He extended his hand toward Alan, who was about to pledge his 
faith in the usual form by grasping it with his own, when the father 
drew back hastily. Ere Alan had time to comment upon this re- 
pulse, a small side-door, covered with tapestry, was opened; the 
hangings were drawn aside, and a lady, as it oy sudden apparition, 
glided into the apartment. It w T as neither of the Misses Arthuret, 
but a woman in the prime of life, and in the full-blown expansion 
of female beauty, tall, fair, and commanding in her aspect. Her 
locks, of paly gold, were taught to fall over a brow, which, with 
the stately glance of the large, open, blue eyes, might have become 
Juno herself; her neck and bosom were admirably formed, and of 
a dazzling whiteness. She was rather inclined to embonpoint, but 
not more than became her age, of apparently thirty years Her 
step was that of a queen, but it was of Queen Vashtp not Queen 
Esther — the bold and commanding, not the retiring-beauty. 

Father Buonaventure raised himself on the couch, angrily, as if 
displeased ‘by this intrusion. “ Mow now, madam,” he said, with 
some sternness; “ why have we the honor of your company?” 

“ Because it is my pleasure,” answered the lady, composedly. 

** Your pleasure, madam!” he repeated, in the same angry tone. 

“M.v pleasure, sir,” she continued, “ which always keeps fcxact 


REDGAUNTLET. 255 

pace with my duty. 1 had heard you were unwell— let me hope it 
is only business which produces this seclusion.” 

1 am well,” he replied; ” perfectly well, and 1 thank you for 
your care — but we aie not alone, and this young man— ” 

“ That young man?” she said, bending her large and serious eye 
on Alan Fairford, asit she bad been for the first time aware of his 
presence—” may 1 ask who he is?” 

” Another time, madam; you shall learn his history after he is 
gone. His presence renders it impossible for me to explain further.” 

“ After he is gone maybe too late,” said the lady; “and what 
is his presence to me, when your safety is at stake? He is 
the heretic lawyer whom those silly fools, the Arthurets, admitted 
into this house at a time when they should have let their own father 
knock at the door in vain, though the night had been a wild one. 
Aou will not surely dismiss him?” 

” Your own impatience can alone make that step perilous,” said 
the father; ” 1 have resolved to take it — do not let your indiscreet 
zeal, however excellent its motive, add any unnecessary risk to the 
transaction.” 

“Even so?” said the lady, in a tone of reproach, yet mingled 
with respect and apprehension. “And thus you will still go for- 
ward, like a stag upon the hunter’s snares, with undoubting con- 
fidence, after all that has happened?” 

” Peace, madam,” said Father Buonaventure, rising up; ” be 
silent, or quit the apartment; my designs do not admit of ftmale 
criticisai.” 

To this peremptory command the lady seemed about to make a 
sharp reply; but she checked herself, and pressing her lips strongly 
together, as if to secure the words from bursting from them which 
weie already formed upon her tongue, she made a deep reverence, 
partly as it seemed in reproach, partly in respect, and left the room 
as suddenly as she had entered it. 

The father looked disturbed at this incident which he seemed 
sensible could not but fill Fairtord’s imagination with an additional 
throng of bewildering suspicions; he bit his lip and muttered some- 
thing to himself as he walked through the apartment; then suddenly 
turned to his visitor with a smile of much sweetness, and a counte- 
nance in which every rougher expression was exchanged tor those 
of couitesy and kindne«s. 

“ The visit we have been just honored with, my young friend, 
has given you,” he said “ more secrets to keep than I would have 
wished you burdened with. The lady is a person of condition — of 
rank and fortune — but nevertheless is so circumstanced that the 
mere fact of her being known to be in this country would occasion 
many evils. 1 should wish you to observe secrecy on this subject, 
even to Redgauntlet or Maxwell, however much 1 trust them in all 
that concerns my own affairs.” 

” 1 can have no occasion,” replied Fairford, “ for holding any 
discussion with these gentlemen, or with any others, on the circum- 
stance which 1 have just witnessed— it could only have become the 
subject of my conversation by mere accident, and i will now take 
care to avoid the subject entirely.” 

“ You will do well, sir, and I thank you,” said the father, throw- 


256 


ItEDGAUNTLET. 


ing much dignity into tne expiession of obligation which he meant 
to convey. “ The time may perhaps come when you will learn 
what it is to have obliged one of my condition. As to the lady, she 
has the highest merit, and nothing can be said of her justly which 
would not redound to her praise. ^Nevertheless — in short, sir, we 
wander at present as in a morning mist — the sun will, 1 trust, soon 
rise and dispel it, when all that now seems mysterious will be fully 
revealed— or it will sink into rain,” he added, in a solemn tone, 
“ and then explanation will be of little consequence. Adieu, sir; 1 
wish you well.” 

He made a graceful obeisance, and vanished through the same 
siue door by which the lady had entered; and Alan thought he 
heard their voices high in dispute in the adjoining apartment. 

Presently afterward Ambrose entered, and told him that a horse 
and guide waited him beneath the terrace. 

” The good Father Buonaventure,” added the butler, “ has been 
graciously pleased to consider your situation, and desired me to in- 
quire whether you have any occasion for a supply of money?” 

“ Make my respect to his reverence,” answered Fairford, ‘‘and 
assure him 1 am provided in that particular. 1 beg you also to 
make my acknowledgments to the Misses Artliuret, and assure them 
that their kind hospitality, to which 1 probably owe my life, shall 
be remembered with gratitude as long as that life lasts. You your- 
self, Mr. Ambrose, must accept of my kindest thanks for your skill 
and attention.” 

Mid these acknowledgments they left the house, descended the 
terrace, and reached the spot where the gardener. Fairford’s old ac- 
quaintance, waited for him, mounted upon one horse, and leading 
another. 

Bidding adieu to Ambrose, our young lawyer mounted, and rode 
down the avenue, otten looking back to the melancholy and neg- 
lected dwelling in which he had witnessed such strange scenes, and 
musing upon the character of its mysterious inmates, especially the 
noble and almost regal-seeming priest, and the beautiful but capri- 
cious dame, who, if she was really Father Buonaventure’s penitent, 
seemed less docile to the authority of the church Ilian, as Alan con- 
ceived, the Catholic discipline permitted. He could not indeed help 
being sensible that the whole deportment of these persons differed 
much from his preconceived notions of a priest and devotee. Father 
Buonaventure, in particular, had more natural dignity and less art 
and affectation in his manner, than accorded with tiie idea which 
Calvinists were taught to entertain of that wil}' and formidable 
person, a Jesuitical missionary. 

While reflecting on these things he looked back so frequently at 
the house that Dick Gardener, a forward, talkative fellow, who 
began to tire of silence, at length said to him, ‘‘1 think you will 
knorv Fairladies when you ste it airain, sir!” 

“ 1 dare say 1 shall, Richard,” answered Fairford, good-natured- 
ly. ”1 wish I knew as well where 1 am to go next. But you can 
tell me, perhaps?” 

“ Your worship should know better than I,” said Dick Gardener; 
“ nevertheless, 1 have a notion you are going where all you Scots- 
men should be sent, whether }ou will or no.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


2o? 


;; Not to the devil, 1 hope, good Dick?” said Fairford. 

‘‘Why, no. That is a road which you may travel as heretics; 
but as Scotsmen, 1 would ouly send you three tourlhs ot the way— 
and that is back to Scotland again— always craving your honor’s 
pardon.” 

“ Does our journey lie that way?” said Fairford. 

“ As far as the water-side,” said Richard. ” 1 am to carry you 
to old Father Crackenthorp’s, and then you are within a spit and a 
stride of Scotland, as the saying is. But mayhap you may think 
twice of going thither for all that; for old England is tat feeding- 
ground for north-country cattle.” 


CHAPTER XV 11. 

NARRATIVE OP DARSIE LATIMER. 

Our history must now, as the old romancers wont to say, “ leave 
to tell ” of the quest ot Alan Fairford, and instruct our readers of 
the adventures which befell Parsie Latimer, left as he was in the 
precarious custody of his self-named tutor, the Laird of the Lochs 
of Solway, to whose arbitrary pleasure he found it necessary for the 
present to conform himself. 

In consequence of this prudent resolution, and although he did 
not assume such a disguise without some sensations of shame and 
degradation, Darsie permitted Cristal Nixon to place over his face, 
and secure by a string, one of those silk masks which ladies frequent- 
ly wore to preserve their complexions, when exposed to the air dur- 
ing long journeys on horseback. He remonstrated somewhat more 
vehemently against the long riding-skirt, -which converted his person 
from the waist into the female guise, but was obliged to concede 
this point also. 

The metamorphosis was then complete; for the fair reader must 
be informed that in those rude times, the ladies, when they honored 
the masculine dress by assuming any part of it, wore just such hats, 
coats, and waistcoats, as the male animals themselves made use of, 
and had no notion of the elegant compromise betwixt male and 
female attire, which has now acquired, par excellence, the name of 
a habit. Trolloping things our mothers must have looked, with 
long square-cut coats, lacking collars, and with waistcoats plenti- 
fully supplied with a length of pocket, which hung far downward 
from the middle. But then they had some advantage from the 
splendid colors, lace, and gay embroidery, which masculine attire 
then exhibited: and, as happens in many similar instances, the finery 
of the materials made amends for the want of symmetry and grace 
of form in the garments themselves. But this is a digression. 

In the court of the old mansion, half manor-place, half farm- 
house, or rather a decayed manor-house converted into an abode tor 
a Cumberland tenant, stood several saddled horses. Four or five of 
them were mounted by servants or inferior retainers, all of whom 
were well armed with sword, pistol, and carbine. But two had rid- 
ing furniture for the use of females— the one being accoutered with 
a side-saddle, the other with a pillion attached to the saddle. 

9 


258 


REDGAUNTLET. 


Darsie’s heart beat quicker within him; he easily comprehendecf 
that one of these was intended for his own use; and his hopes sug- 
gested that the other was designed for that of the fair Green Mantle 
whom, according to his established practice, he had adopted for the 
queen of his affections, although his opportunities of holding com- 
munication with her had not exceeded the length of a silent supper 
on one occasion, and the going down a country dance on another. 
This, however, was no unwonted mood of passion with Darsie Lati- 
mer, upon whom Cupid was used to triumph only in the degree of 
a Mahratta conqueror, who overruns a province with the rapidity of 
lightning, but finds it impossible to retain it beyond a very brief 
space. Yet this new love was rather more serious than the scarce 
skinned-up wounds wliich his friend Fairford used to ridicule. The 
damsel had shown a sincere interest in his behalf; and the air of 
mystery with which that interest was veiled, gave her, to his lively 
imagination, the character of a benevolent and protecting spirit as 
much as that of a beautiful female. 

At former times the romance attending his short-lived attachments 
had be en of his own creating, and had disappeared as soon as ever 
he approached more closely to the object with which.he had invested 
it. On the present occasion it really flowed from external circum- 
stances, which might have interested less susceptible feelings, and 
an imagination less lively than that of Darsie Latimer, young, in- 
experienced, and enthusiastic as he was. 

He watched, therefore, anxiously to whose service the palfrey 
bearing the lady’s saddle was destined. But ere any female ap- 
peared to occupy it, he was himself summoned to take his seat on 
the pillion behind Cristal Nixon, amid the grins of his old acquaint- 
ance Jan, who helped him to horse, and the unrestrained laughter 
of Dorcas, who displayed on the occasion a case of teeth which 
might have rivaled ivory. 

Latimer was at an age when being an object of general ridicule 
even to clowns and milk-maids was not a matter of indifference, 
and he longed heartily to have laid his horsewhip across Jan’s 
shoulders. That, however, was a solacement of his feelings which 
was not at the moment to be thought of; and Cristal Nixon pres- 
ently put an end to his unpleasant situation, by ordering the riders 
to go on. He himself kept the center of the troop, two men riding 
before aud two behind him, always, as it seemed to Darsie, having 
their eye upon him to prevent any attempt to escape. He could see 
from time to time, when the straight line of the road or the advan- 
tage of an ascent, permitted him, that another troop of three or four 
riders followed them at about, a quarter of a mile’s distance, amongst 
whom he could discover the tall form of Redgauntlet, and the pow- ' 
erful action of bis gallant black horse. He had little doubt that 
Green Mantle made one of tbe party, though he was unable to dis- 
tinguish her from the others. 

In this manner they traveled from six in the morning until nearly 
ten of the clock, without Darsie exchanging a word with any one; 
for he loathed the very idea of entering into conversation with 
Cristal Nixon, against whom he seemed to feel an instinctive aver- 
sion; nor was that domestic’s saturnine and sullen disposition such 
as to have encouraged advances, had he thought of making them. 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


259 


At length t.lie party baited for the purpose of refreshment; but as 
they had hitherto avoided all villages and inhabited places upon 
their route, so they now stopped at one of those large ruinous Dutch 
barns, which are sometimes found in the fields, at a distance from 
the farm-houses to which they belong. Yet in tin's desolate place 
some preparations had been made for their reception. There were 
in the end of the barn racks filled with provender for the horses, 
and plenty of provisions for the party were drawn from the trusses 
of straw, under which the baskets that contained them had been 
deposited. The choicest of these were selected and arranged apart 
by Cristal Nixon, while the men of the party threw themselves upon 
the rest, which he abandoned to their discretion. In a few minutes 
afterward the rearward party arrived and dismounted, and Red- 
gauntlet himself entered the barn with the green-mantled maiden 
by his side. He presented her to Darsie with these words: 

“ It is time you two should know each other better. I promised 
you my confidence, Darsie, and the time is come for reposing it. 
But first we will have our breakfast; and then, when once more in 
the saddle, 1 will tell you that which it is necessary that you should 
know. Salute Lilias, Darsie.” 

The command was sudden, and surprised Latimer, whose confu- 
sion was increased by the perfect ease and frankness with which 
Lilias offered at once her cheek and her hand, and pressing his as 
she rather took it than gave her own, said very frankly, “ Dearest 
Darsie, how rejoiced 1 am that oui uncle has at last permitted us to 
become acquainted!” 

Darsie’s head turned round, and it was perhaps well that Red- 
gauntlet called on him to sit down, as even that movement served to 
hide his contusion. There is an old song which says— 

* “ when ladies are willing, 

A man can but look like a fool 

and on the same principle Darsie Latimer’s looks at this unexpected 
tiiinkness of reception, would have formed an admirable vignette 
for illustrating the passage. “ Dearest Darsie,” and such a ready, 
nay, eager salute of lip and hand! It was all very gracious no 
doubt — and ought to have been received with much gratitude; but, 
constituted as our friend’s temper was, nothing could be more in- 
consistent with his tone of feeling. If a hermit had proposed to him 
to club for a pot of beer, the illusion of his reverend sanctity could 
not have been dispelled more effectually than the divine qualities of 
Green Mantle faded upon the ill-imagined frank-heartedness of poor 
Lilias, Vexed with her forwardness, and affronted at having once 
more cheated himself, Darsie could hardly help muttering two lines 
of the song we have already quoted: 

“ The fruit that must fall without shaking 
Is rather too mellow for me.” 

And yet it was pity for her too— she was a very pretty young 
woman— his fancy had scarcel} r overrated her in that respect — and 
the slight derangement of the beautiful brown locks which escaped 
in natural ringlets from under her riding-hat, with the bloom which 
exercise had brought into her cheek, made her even more than 


260 


REDGAUNTLET. 


usually fascinating. Redgauntlet modified the sternness of his look 
when it was turned toward her, and in addressing her, used a softer 
tone than his usual deep bass. Even the grim features of Cristal 
Nixon relaxed when he attended on her, and it was then, if ever, 
that his misanthropical visage expressed some sympathy with the 
rest of humanity. 

“ How can she,” thought Latimer, “ look so like an angel, yet be 
so mere a mortal after all? IIow could so much seeming modesty 
have so much forwardness of manner, when she ought to have been 
most reserved? How can her conduct he reconciled to the grace and 
ease of her general deportment?” 

The confusion of thoughts which occupied Daisie’s imagination, 
gave to his looks a disordered appearance, and his inattention to the 
food which was placed before him, together with his silence and 
absence of mind, induced Lilias solicitously to inquire, whether he 
did not feel some return of the disorder under which he had suffered 
so lately. This led Mr. Redgauntlet, who seemed also lost in his 
own contemplations, to raise his eyes, and join in the same inquiry 
with some appearance of interest. Latimer explained to both that 
he was perfectly well. 

“It is well it is so,” answered Redgauntlet; “ for we have that 
before us which will brook no delay from indisposition— we have 
not, as Hotspur says, leisure to be sick.” 

Lilias, on her part, endeavored to prevail upon Darsie to partake 
of the food which she offered him, with a kindly and affectionate 
courtesy corresponding to the warmth of the interest she had dis- 
played at their meeting; but so very natural, innocent, and pure in 
its character, that it would have been impossible for the vainest cox- 
comb to have mistaken it lor coquetry, or a desire of captivating a 
prize so valuable as his affection. Darsie, with no more than the 
reasonable share of self-opinion common to most youths when they 
approached twenty-one, knew not how to explain her conduct. 

Sometimes he was tempted to think that his own merits had, even 
during the short intervals when they had seen each other, secured 
such a bold of the affections of a young person, who had probably 
been bred up in ignorance of the world and its forms, that she was 
unable to conceal her partiality. Sometimes he suspected that she 
acted by her guardian’s order, who, aware that he, Darsie, was en- 
titled to a considerable fortune, might have taken this bold stroke to 
briug about a marriage betwixt him and so near a relative. 

But neither of these suppositions was applicable to the character 
of the parties. Miss Lilias’s manners, however soft and natural, 
displayed in their ease and versatility considerable acquaintance 
with the habits of the world, and in the few words she said during 
the morning repast, there were mingled a shrewdness and good sense 
which could scarce belong to a miss capable of playing the silly part 
of a love-smitten maiden so broadly. As for Redgauntlet, with his 
stately bearing, his fatal frown, his eye of threat and command, it 
was impossible, Darsie thought, to suspect him of a scheme having 
private advantage for its object;— he could as soon have imagined 
Cassius picking Caesar’s pocket, instead of drawing his poniard on 
the Dictator. 

Nubile he thus mused, unable either to eat, drink, or answer to the 


REDGAUNTLET. 261 

courtesy of Lilias, she soon ceased to speak to him, and sat silent as 
himself. 

They had remained nearly an hour in their halting-place, when 
Redgauntlet said aloud, “Look out, Cristal Nixon. If we hear 
nothing from Fairladies we must continue our journey.” 

Cristal went to the door, and presently returned, and said to his 
master, in a voice as harsh as his features, “ Gilbert Gregson is 
coming, his iiorse as white with foam as if a fiend had ridden him.” 

Redgauntlet threw from him the plate on which he had been eat- 
ing, and hastened toward the door of the barn, w-hicli the courier 
at that moment entered — a smart jockey, with a black velvet hunt- 
ing-cap, and a broad belt drawn tight round his waist, to which was 
secured his express-bag. The variety of mud with which he was 
splashed from cap to spur, showed he had had a rough and rapid 
ride. He delivered a letter to Mr. Redgauntlet with an obeisance^ 
and then retired to the end of the barn, where the other attendants 
were sitting or lying upon the straw, in order to get some refresh- 
ment. 

Redgauntlet broke the letter open with haste, and read it with 
anxious and discomposed looks. 

On a second perusal his displeasure seemed to increase, his brow 
darkened, and was distinctly marked with the fatal sign peculiar 
to his family and house. Darsie had never before observed his 
frown bear such a close resemblance to the shape which tradition 
assigned it. 

Redgauntlet held out the open letter with one hand, and struck it 
with the forefinger of the other, as, in a suppressed and displeased 
tone, he said to Cristal Nixon, “ Countermanded— ordered north- 
ward once more! — Northward, when all our hopes lie to tne south — 
a second Derby direction, when we turned our back on glory, and 
marched in quest of ruin!” 

Cristal Nixon took the letter and ran it over, then returned it to 
his master with the cold observation, “ A female influence predomi- 
nates.” 

“But it shall predominate no longer,” said Redgauntlet; “it 
shall wane as ours rises in the horizon. Meanwhile, 1 will on before 
— and you, Cristal, will brrng the party to the place assigned in the 
letter. You may now permit the young persons to have unreserved 
communication together; only mark that you watch the young man 
closely enough to prevent his escape, if he should he idiot enough 
to attempt it, but not approaching so close as to watch their free 
conversation.” 

“ 1 care naught about their conversation,” said Nixon, surlily. 

“You hear my commands, Lilias,” said the laird, turning to the 
young lady. “ You may use my permission and authority to ex- 
plain so much of our family matters as you yourself know. At 
our next meeting I will complete the task of disclosure, and 1 trust 
1 shall restore one Redgauntlet more to the bosom of our ancient 
family. Let Latimer, as he calls himself, have a horse to himself; 
he must for some time retain his disguise. My horse — my horse!” 

In two minutes they heard him ride ott from the door of the barn, 
followed at speed by two of the armed men of his party. 

The commands of Cristal Nixon, in the meanwhile, put all the re- 


262 


liEDGAUNTLET. 


raainder of the party in motion, but the laird himself was long out 
of sight ere they were in ieadiness to resume their journey. When 
at length they set out, Darsie was accommodated wilh a horse and 
side-saddle, instead of being obliged to resume his place on the pill- 
ion behind the detestable Nixon. lie was obliged, however, to re- 
tain his riding-skirt, and to resume his mask. Yet, notwithstanding 
this disagreeable circumstance, and although he observed that they 
gave him the heaviest and slowest horse of the party, and that, as a 
further precaution against escape, he was closely watched on every 
side, yet riding in company with the pretty Lilias was an advantage 
which overbalanced these inconveniences. 

It is true, that this socieiy, to which that very morning he would 
have looked forward as a glimpse of heaven, had, now that it was 
thus unexpectedly indulged, something much less rapturous than he 
had expected. 

It was in vain that, in order to avail himself of a situation so fa- 
vorable for indulging his romantic disposition, he endeavored to 
coax back, if I may so express myself, that delightful diearn of ar- 
dent and tender passion; he felt only such a contusion ot ideas at 
the difference between the being whom he had imagined and her 
with whom he was now in contact, that it seemed- to him like the 
effect of witchcraft. What most surprised him was, that this sud- 
den flame should have died away so rapidly, notwithstanding that 
the maiden’s personal beauty was even greater thau lie had expected 
— her demeanor, unless it should be deemed overkind toward him- 
self, as graceful and becoming as be could have fancied it, even in 
bis gayest dreams. It weie judging hardly of him to suppose that 
the mere belief of liis having attracted her affections more easily 
than lie expected, was the cause of his ungratefully undervaluing 
a prize too lightly won, or that bis transient passion played around 
his heart with the flitting radiance of a wiutery sunbeam flashing 
against an icicle, which may brighten it for a moment, but can not 
melt it. Neither of these was precisely the case, though such fickle- 
ness ot disposition might also have some influence in the change. 

The truth is, perhaps, the lover’s pleasure, like that of the hunt- 
er, is in the chase; and that the brightest beauty loses halt its 
merit, as the fairest flower its perfume, when the willing baud can 
reach it too easily. Tlieie must be doubt — there must, be danger — 
tlieie must be difficulty; and if, as the poet says, the course of ar- 
dent affection never does run smooth, it is, perhaps, because, with- 
out some intervening obstacle', that which is called the romantic pas- 
sion of love, in its high poetical character and coloring, can hardly 
have an existence— any more than there can be a current in a river 
without the stream being nai rowed by steep banks or checked by 
opposing rocks. 

Let not those, however, who enter into a union for life without 
those embarrassments which delight a Darsie Latimer, or a Lydia 
Languish, and which are perhaps necessary to excite an enthusias- 
tic passion in breasts more firm than theirs, augur worse of their fut- 
ure happiness, because theirowu alliance istormed under calmer 
auspices. Mutual esteem, au intimate knowledge of each other’s 
character, seen, as in their case, undisguised by the mists of too par- 
tial passion— a suitable proportion of parties in rank and fortune, in 


EEDGAUNTLET. 


263 


taste and pursuits — are moie frequently found in a marriage of 
reason than in it union of romantic attachment; where the imagina- 
tion, which probably created the virtues and accomplishments with 
which it invested the beloved object, is frequently afterward em- 
ployed in magnifying the mortifying consequences of its own delu- 
sion, and exasperating all the stings of disappointment. Tlnse who 
follow the banners of Reason are like the well-disciplined battal- 
ion, which, wearing a more sober uniform, and making a less daz- 
zling show than the light troops commanded by Imagination, enjoy 
more safety, and even more honor in the conflicts of human life. 
All this, however, is foreign to our present purpose. 

Uncertain in what manner to address her whom he had been lately 
so anxious to meet with, and embarrassed by a tite d-tete to which 
his own timid inexperience gave some awkwardness, the party had 
proceeded more than a hundred yards before Darsie assumed cour- 
age to accost, or even to look at, his companion. Sensible, however, 
of the impropriety of his silence, he turned to speak to her; and 
observing that, although she wore her mask, there was something 
like disappointment and dejection in her manner, he was moved by 
self-reproach tor his own coldness, and hastened to address her in 
the kindest tone he could assume. 

“ You must think me cruelly deficient in gratitude, Miss Lilias, 
that I have been thus lone: in your company, without thanking you 
for the interest which you have deigned to take in my unfortunate 
affairs?” 

”1 am triad you have at length spoken,” she said, “though I 
own it is more coldly than I expected. Miss Lilias! Deign to take 
interest! lu whom, dear Darsie, can I take interest but in you; and 
why do you put this barrier of ceremony betwixt us, whom adverse 
circumstances have already separated for such a length of time?” 

Darsie was again confounded at the extra candor, it we may use 
the term, of this trank avowal — “ One must love partridge very 
well,” thought he, “ to accept it when thrown in one’s face— it this 
is not plain speaking, there is no such place as downright Dun- 
stable in being!” 

Embarrassed with these reflections, and himself of a nature fanci- 
fully, almost fastidiously, delicate, he could only in reply stammer 
forth an acknowledgment of his companion’s goodness, and his own 
gratitude. She answered in a tone partly sorrowful and partly im- 
patient, repeating, with displeased emphasis, the only distinct 
words he had been able to bring forth — “ Goodness — gratitude! O 
Darsie! should these be the phrases between you and me? Alas! I 
am too sure you are displeased with me, though 1 can not even guess 
on what account. Perhaps you think 1 have been too free in ventur- 
ing upon my visit to your friend. But then remember, it was in 
your behalf, and that I knew no better way to put you on your 
guard against the misfortunes and restraint which you have been 
subjected to, and are still enduring.” 

“ Dear lady said Darsie, rallying his recollection, and suspi- 
cious of some error in apprehension, a suspicion which his mode of 
address seemed at once to communicate to Lilias, for she Interrupted 
him— 


264 


REDG AUNT LET. 


“ Lady ! dear lady ! For whom, or for what, in Heaven’s name, 
do you take me, that yoa address me so formally?” 

Had the question been asked in that enchanted hall in Fairydand, 
where all interrogations must be answered with absolute sincerity, 
Darsie had certainly replied, that lie took her foi the most frank- 
hearted and ultra-liberal lass that had ever lived since Mother Eve 
ate the pippin without paring. But as he was still on middle-earth, 
and free to avail himself of a little polite deceit, he barely answered, 
that he believed he had the honor of speaking to the niece of Mr. 
Red gauntlet. 

“ Surely,” she replied; “ but were it not as easy for you to have 
said, to your own only sister?” 

Darsie started in his saddle, as if he had received a pistol-shot. 

* 4 My sister!” he exclaimed. 

And you did not know it, then?” said she. “ I thought your 
reception of me was cold and indifferent!” 

A. kind and cordial embrace took place betwixt the relatives; and 
so light was Darsie’s spirit, that he really felt himself more relieved, 
by getting quit of the embarrassment of the last half hour, during 
which he conceived himself in danger of being persecuted by the 
attachment of a forward girl, than disappointed by the vanishing of 
so many day-dreams as he had been in the habit of encouraging 
during the time when the green-mantled maiden was goddess of his 
idolatry. He had been already flung from his romantic Pegasus, 
and was too happy at length to find himselt with bones unbroken, 
though with his back on the ground. He was, besides, with all his 
whims and follies, a generous kind-hearted youth, and w r as delighted 
to acknowledge so beautiful and amiable a relative, and to assure 
her in the warmest terms of his immediate affection and future pro- 
tection, so soon as they should be extricated from their present situa- 
tion. Smiles and tears mingled on Lilias’s cheeks, like showers 
and sunshine in April weather. 

“ Out on me,” she said, “ that I should be so childish as to cry 
at what makes me so sincerely happy! since, God knows, family 
love is what my heart has most longed after, and to which it has 
been most a stranger. My uncle says that you and 1, Darsie, are 
but half Redgauntlets, and that the me’al of which our father’s 
family was made has been softened to effeminacy in our mother’s 
offspring.” 

‘‘ Alas!” said Darsie, ” 1 know so little of our family story, that 
1 almost doubled that 1 belonged to the House of Redgauntlet, al- 
though the chief of the family himself intimated so much to me ” 

“ The chief of the family!” said Lilias. ” You must know’ little 
of your own descent, indeed, if you mean my uncle by that ex- 
pression. You yourself, my dear Darsie, are the heir and representa- 
tive of our ancient house, for our father was the elder brother — 
that brave and unhappy Sir Henry Darsie Redgauntlet, who suffered 
at Carlisle in the year 1746. He took the name of Darsie, in con- 
junction with his own, from our mother, heiress to a Cumberland 
family of great wealth and antiquity, of whose large estates you are 
the undeniable heir, although those of your father have been in- 
volved in the general doom of forfeiture. But all this mu-t be nec- 
essarily unknowm to you.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


265 


“ Indeed, I hear it for the first time in my life," answered Darsie. 

“ And you knew not that 1 was your sister?” said Lilias. “ No 
wonder you received me so coldly. What a strange, wild forward 
young person you must have thought me — mixing myself in the 
fortunes of a stranger whom 1 had only once spokenlo— correspond- 
ing with him by signs! Good Heaven! what can you have supposed 
me?” 

” And how should I have come to the knowledge of our connec- 
tion?” said Darsie. “ You are aware 1 was not acquainted with it 
when we danced together at Brokenburn.” 

“ 1 saw that with concern, and fain 1 would have warned you,” 
answered Lilias; “but I was closely watched, and before 1 could 
find or make an opportunity of coming to a full explanation with 
you on a subject so agitating, 1 was forced to leave the room. What 
1 did say was, you may remember, a caution to leave the southern, 
border, fori foresaw what has since happened. But since my uncle 
has had you in his power, I never doubted he had communicated to 
you our whole family history.” 

” He has left me to learn it from you, Lilias; and assure yourself 
that I will bear it with more pleasure from your lips than from his. 
1 have no reason to be pleased with his conduct toward me.” 

“ Of that,” said Lilias, *‘ you will judge better when you have 
heard what I have to tell you;” and she began her communication 
in the following manner: 


CHAPTER XV11I. 

NARRATIVE OF DARSIE LATIMER, CONTINUED. 

“ The House of Redgauntlet,” said the young lady, “ has for 
centuries been supposed to lie under a doom, which has rendered 
vain their courage, their talents, their ambition, and their wisdom. 
Often making a figure in history, they have been ever in the situa- 
tion of men striving against both wind and tide, who distinguish 
themselves by their desperate exertions of strength, and their perse- 
vering endurance of toil, but without being able to advance them- 
selves upon their course, by either vigor or resolution. They pre- 
tend to trace this fatality to a. legendary history, which I may tell 
you at a less busy moment.” 

Darsie intimated that he had already heard the tragic story of Sir 
Alberick Redgauntlet. 

“ 1 need only say, then,” proceeded Lilias, “ that our father and 
uncle felt the family doom in its full extent. They were both pos- 
sessed of considerable property, which was largely increased by our 
father’s marriage, and were both devoted to the service of the un- 
happy House of Stuart; but (as oui mother at least supposed) fam- 
ily considerations might have withheld her husband from joining 
openl y in the affair of 1745, had not the high influence which the 
younger brother possessed over the elder, from his more decided en- 
ergy of character, hurried him along with himself into that under- 
taking. 

“ When, therefore, the enlerprise came to the fatal conclusion 
which bereaved our father of his life, and consigned his brother to 


266 


REDGAUNTLET. 


exile, Lady Redgauntlet fled from the north of England, determined 
to break off all communication with her late husband’s family, par- 
ticularly his brother, whom she regarded as having, by their insane 
political enthusiasm, been the means of his untimely death; and de- 
termined that you, my brother, an infant, and that 1, to whom she 
had just given birth, should be brought up as adherents of the pres- 
ent dynasty. Perhaps she was too hasty in this determination— too 
timidly anxious to exclude, if possible, from the knowledge of the 
very spot where he existed, a relation so nearly connected with us 
as our father’s only brother. But you must make allowance for 
what she had suffered. See, brother,” she said, pulling her glove 
off, “ these five blood-specks on my arm are a mark by which mys- 
terious Nature lias impressed on an unborn infant, a record of its 
father’s violent death and its mother’s miseries.”* 

“ You were not then born when my father suffered?” said Dar- 
sie. 

“ Alas, no!” she replied; “ nor were you a twelvemonth old. It 
was no wonder that my mother, after going through such scenes of 
agony, became irresistibly anxious for the sake of her children— of 
her son in particular; the more especially as the late Sir Henry, her 
husband, had, by a settlement of his aff airs, confided the custody of 
the persons of her children, as well as the estates which descended 
to them, independently of those which fell under his forfeiture, to 
his brother Hugh, in whom he placed unlimited confidence. ’ 

‘‘But my mother had no reason to fear the operation of such a 
deed, conceived in favor of an attainted man,” said Darsie. 

‘‘True,” replied Lilias; ‘‘but our uncle’s attainder might have 
been reversed, like that of so many other persons, and our mother, 
who both feared and hated him, lived in continual terror that this 
would be the case, and that she should see the author, as she thought 
him, of her husband’s death, come armed with legal powers, and 
in a capacity to use them, for the purpose of tearing her children 
from her protection. Besides, she feared, even in hie incapacitated 
condition, the adventurous and pertinacious spirit of her father-in- 
law, Hugh Redgauntlet, and felt assured that he would make some 
attempt to possess himself of the persons ot the children. On the 
other hand, our uncle, whose proud disposition might, perhaps, have 
been soothed by the offer of her confidence, revolted against the 
distrustful and suspicious manner m which Lady Darsie Redsraunt- 
let acted toward him. She basely abused, he said, the unhappy cir- 
cumslances in which he was placed, in order to deprive him of his 
natural privilege of protecting and educating the infants, who nat- 
ure and law, and the will of their father, had committed to his 
charge, and he swore solemnly he would not submit to such an in- 
jury. Report of his threats "was made to Lady Redgauntlet aud 
tended to increase those fears which proved but too well founded. 


* Several persons have brought down to these days the impressions which 
Nature had thus recorded, when they were babes unborn. One lady of quality, 
whose father was long under sentence of death, previous to the Rebellion, was 
marked on the back of the neck by the sign of a broad-ax. Another, whose 
kinsmen had been slain in battle, and died on the scaffold, to the number of 
seven, bore a child spattered on the right shoulder, and down the arm, with 
scarlet drops, as if ot blood. Many other instances might be quoted. 


Ft E DG A U NT LET. 


267 ' 


"W bile you and 1. children at that time of two or three years old, 
weie playing together in a walled orchard, adjacent to our mother’s 
residence, which she had fixed somewhere in Devonshire, my uncle 
suddenly scaled the wall with several men, and 1 was snatcheci up 
and carried off to a boat which waited for them. My mother, how- 
ever, flew to your rescue, and as she seized on and held you fast, 
m 3 T uncle could not, as he has since told me, possess himself of your 
person, without using unmanly violence to his brother’s widow. Of 
this he was incapable; and, as people began to assemble upon my 
mother’s screaming, he withdrew, after darting upon you and her 
one of those fearful looks, which, it is said, remain with our fam- 
ily, as a fatal bequest of Sir Alberick, our ancestor.” 

”1 have some recollection of the scuffle which you mention,” 
said Darsie; ** and 1 think it was my uncle himself (since my uncle 
he is) who recalled the circumstance to my mind on a late occasion. 
1 can now account for the guarded seclusion under which my poor 
mother lived— for her frequent tears, her starts of hysterical alarm, 
and her constant and deep melancholy. Poor lady! what a lot was 
hers, and what must have been her feelings w'hen it approached to 
a close.” 

” It was then that she adopted,” said Lilias, 44 every precaution 
her ingenuity could suggest, to keep your very existence concealed 
from the person whom she feared— nay, from yourself; for she 
dreaded, as she is said often to have expressed herself , that the wild- 
fire blood of Redgauntlet would urge you to unite your fortunes to 
those of your uncle, who was well known still to carry on political 
intrigues, which most other persons had considered as desperate. It 
was also possible that he, as well as others, might get his pardon, as 
government showed every year more lenity toward the remnant of 
the Jacobites, and then he might claim the custody of your person, 
as your legal guardian. Either of these events she considered as 
the direct road to your destruction.” 

“ I wonder she had not claimed the protection of Chancery for 
me,” said Darsie; ‘‘or confide me to the care of some powerful 
friend.” 

“ She was on indifferent terms with her relations, on account of 
her marriage with our father,” said Lilias, ‘‘and trusted more to 
secreting you from your uncle’s attempts, than to any protection 
w T hich law might afford against them. Perhaps she judged unwise- 
ly, but surely not unnaturally, for one rendered irritable by so many 
misfortunes and so many alarms. Samuel Griffiths, an eminent 
banker, and a worthy clergyman now dead, were, I believe, the only 
persons whom she intrusted with the execution of her last will; and 
my uncle believes that she made them both swear to observe pro 
found secrecy concerning your birth and pretensions, until you 
should come to the age of majority, and in the meantime, to breed 
you up in the most private w r ay possible, and that which was most 
likely to withdraw you from my uncle's observation.” 

44 And 1 have no doubt,” said Darsie, ” that betwixt change of 
name and habitation, they might have succeeded perfectly, but for 
the accident — lucky or unlucky, I know not which to term it — 
which brought me to Brokenburn, and into contact with Mr. Red- 


REDGAUJSTLET. 


268 

gauntlet. 1 see also why I was warned against England, for in 
England — *’ 

‘‘ In England alone, if 1 understand rightly,” said Miss Ked- 
gauntlet, “ the claims or your uncle to the custody of your person 
could have been enforced, in case of his being replaced in the ordi- 
nary rights of citizenship, either by the lenity of the Government or 
by some change in it. In Scotland, where you possess no property, 
1 understand his authority might have been resisted, and measures 
taken to put you under the protection of the law. But, pray, think 
it not unlucky that you have taken the step of visiting Brokenburn 
—I feel confident that the consequences must be ultimately fortu- 
. nate, for, have they not already brought us into contact with each 
other?” 

So saying, she held out her hand to her brother, who grasped it 
with a fondness of pressure very different from the manner in which 
they fiist clasped hands that morning. There was a moment’s pause, 
while the hearts of both were overflowing with a feeling of natural 
affection, to which circumstances had hitherto rendered them 
strangers. 

At length Darsie broke silence; “ 1 am ashamed,” he said, “ my 
dearest Lilias, that I have suffered you to talk so long about matters 
concerning myself only, while 1 remain ignorant of your story and 
your present situation.” 

“ The former is none of the most interesting, nor the latter the 
most safe or agreeable,” answered Lilias; “ but now, my dearest 
brother, I shall have the inestimable support of your countenance 
and affection; and were I but sure that we could weather the for- 
midable crisis which 1 find so close at hand, 1 should have little ap- 
prehensions for the future.” 

“Let me know,” said Darsie, “what our present situation is; 
and rely upon my utmost exertions both in your defense and my 
own. For what reason can my uncle desire to detain me a pris- 
oner? If in mere opposition to the will of my mother, she has long 
been no more; and 1 see not why he should wish at so much trouble 
and risk, to interfere with the free will of one to whom a few 
months will give a privilege of acting for himself, with which he 
will have no longer any pretense to interfere.” 

“ My dearest Arthur,” answered Lilias— “ for that name, as well 
as Darsie, properly belongs to you— it is the leading feature in my 
uncle’s character that he has applied every energy of his powerful 
mini to the service of the exiled family of Stuart. The death of 
his brother, the dilapidation of his own fortunes, have only added 
to his hereditary zeal for the House of Stuart a deep and almost 
personal hatred against the present reigning famity. He is, in 
short, a political enthusiast of the most dangerous character, and 
proceeds in his agency with as much confidence as if he felt himself 
the very Atlas who is alone capable of supporting a sinking cause.” 

“And where or how did you, my Lilias, educated, doubtless, 
under his auspices, learn to have a different view of such subjects?” 

“ By a singular chance,” replied Lilias, “ in the nunnery where 
my uncle placed me. Although the abbess was a person exactly 
after his own heart, my education as a pensioner devolved much on 
an excellent old mother who had adopted the tenets of the Jansen- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


269 


ists, with perhaps a still further tendency toward the reformed doc- 
trines than those of Porte-Royale. The mysterious secrecy with 
wh ch she inculcated these teuets gave them charms to my young 
mind, and I embraced them the rather that they were in direct op- 
position to the doctrines of the abbess, whom 1 hated so much for 
her severity that I felt a childish delight in setting her control at de- 
fiance, and contradicting in my secret soul all that 1 was openly 
obliged to listen to with i evereuce. Freedom of religious opinion 
brings on, I suppose, freedom of political creed; fori had no sooner 
renounced the Pope’s infallibility than I began to question the doc- 
trine of hereditary and indefeasible right. In short, strange as it 
may seem, 1 came out of a Parisian convent, not indeed an in- 
structed Whig and Protestant, but with as much inclination to be 
so as it I had been bred up, like you, within the Presbyterian sound 
of Saint Giles’s chimes.” 

“ More so, perhaps,” replied Darsie; “ for the nearer the church 
—the provetb is somewhat musty. But how did these liberal opin 
ions of yours agree with the very opposite prejudices of my uncle?” 

‘‘ They would have agreed like fire and water,’’ answered Lilias, 
” had I suffered mine to become visible; but as that would have 
subjected me to constant reproach and upbraiding, or worse, I took 
great care to keep my own secret; so that occasional censures for 
coldness, and lack of zeal for the good cause, were the worst L had 
to undergo; and these were bad enough.” 

“ I applaud your caution,” said Darsie. 

“You have reason,” replied his sister; “ but I got so terrible a 
specimeu of my uncle’s determination of character, before I had 
been acquainted wilh him for much more than a week, that it taught 
me at what risk I should contradict his humor. 1 will tell you the 
circumstances; for it will better teach you to appreciate the romantic 
and resolved nature of his chaiacter than anything which I could 
state of his rashness and enthusiasm. 

*‘ After 1 had been many a long year at the convent, 1 was re- 
moved from thence, and placed with a meager old Scottish lady of 
high rank, the daughter of an unfortunate person, whose head had 
in the year 1715 been placed on Temple Bar. She subsisted on a 
small pension from the French Court, aided by an occasional 
gratuity from the Stuarts; to which the annuity paid for my board 
formed a desirable addition. She was not ill-tempered, nor very 
covetous — neither beat me nor starved me — but she was so complete- 
ly trammeled by rank and prejudices, so awfully profound in 
genealogy, and so bitterly keen, poor lady, in British politics, that I 
sometimes thought it pity that the Hanoverians, who murdered, as 
she used to tell me, her poor dear father, had left his dear daughter 
in the land of the living. Delighted, therefore, was L when my 
uncle made his appearance, and abruptly announced his purpose of 
conveying me to Lngland. My extravagant joy at the idea of leav- 
ing Lady Rachel Rougedragon was somewhat qualified by observ- 
ing the melancholy look, lofty demeanor, and commanding tone of 
my near relative. He held more communication with me on the 
journey, however, than consisted with his taciturn demeanor in 
general, and seemed anxious to ascertain my tone of character, and 
particularly in point of courage. Now, though 1 am a lamed lied- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


270 

gauntlet, yet 1 have still so much ot our family spirit as enables me 
to be as composed in danger as most of my' sex: and upon two oc- 
casions in the course of our journey — a threatened attack by banditti, 
and the overturn of our carriage — 1 had the fortune so to conduct 
myself, as to convey to my uncle a very favorable idea ot my in- 
trepidity, Probably this encouraged him to put into execution the 
singular scheme which he had in agitation. 

“ Ere we reached London we changed our means of conveyance, 
and altered the route by which we approached the city more than 
once: then, like a hare which doubles repeatedly at some distance 
from the seat she means to occupy, and at last leaps into her form 
from a distance so great as she cau clear by a spring, we made a 
forced march, and landed in private obscure lodgings, in a little old 
street in Westminster, not far. from the Cloisters. 

“ On the morning of the day on which we arrived my uncle went 
abioad, and did not return for some hours. Meantime 1 had no 
other amusement than to listen to the tumult of noises which suc- 
ceeded each ether, or reigned in confusion together during the whole 
morning. Paris I had thought the most noisy capital in the world* 
but Paris seemed midnight silence compared* to London. Cannon 
thundered near and at a distance— drums, trumpets, and military 
music of every kind rolled, flourished, and pierced the clouds, al- 
most without intermission. To fill up the concert, bells pealed in- 
cessantly from a hundred steeples. The acclamations of an im- 
mense multitude were heard from time to time, like the roaring of 
a mighty, ocean, and all this without my being able to glean the 
least idea ot what was going on, tor the windows ot our apartment 
looked upon a waste back-yard, which seemed totally deserted. My 
curiosity became extreme, for I was satisfied, at length, that it must 
be some festival ot the highest order which called forth these inces- 
sant sounds. 

“ My uncle at length returned, and with him a man of an exterior 
singularly unprepossessing. 1 need not describe him to you, for — 
do not look round — he rides behind us at this moment.” 

‘‘ That respectable person, Mr. Cristal Nison, I suppose?” said 
Darsie. 

‘‘ The same,” answered Lilias; “ make no gesture that may inti- 
mate we are speaking of him.” 

Darsie signified that he understood her, and she pursued her rela- 
tion: 

‘‘ They were both in full dress, and my uncle, taking a bundle 
from Nixon, said to me, ‘ Lilias, 1 am come to carry you to see a. 
grand ceremony — put on as hastily as you can the drees you will 
find in that parcel, and prepare to attend me. 1 found a female 
dress, splendid and elegant, but somewhat bordering upon the 
antique fashion. It might be that of England,! thought, and 1 went 
to my apartment full of curiosity, and dressed myself w ith all speed. 

‘‘ My uncle surveyed me with attention — 4 She may pass for one 
of the flowef-girls,’ he said to Nixon, who only answered with a nod. 

” We left the house together, and such was their knowledge of 
the lanes, courts, and by-paths, that though there was the roar of a 
multitude in the broad streets, those which we traversed were sileut 
and deserted; and the strollers whom we met, tired of gazing upon 


REDGAUNTLET. 


271 


gayer figures, scarcely honored us with a passing look, although, at 
any other time, we should, among these vulgar suburbs, have attract- 
ed a troublesome share of observation. We crossed at length a broad 
street, where many soldiers were on guard, while others, exhausted 
with previous duty, were eating, drinking, smoking, and sleeping 
beside their piled arms. 

“ 4 One day, Nixon,’ whispered my uncle, ‘we will make these 
Ted coated gentry stand to their muskets more watchlully.’ ” 

“ ‘ Or it will be the worse tor them,’ answered his attendant, in 
a voice as unpleasant as his physiognomy. 

“ Unquestioned and unchallenged by any one, we crossed among 
the guards, and Nixon tapped thrice at a small postern door in a 
huge ancient building, which was straight before us. It opened, 
and we entered without my perceiving by whom we were admitted. 
A few dark and nairow passages at length conveyed us into an im- 
mense Gothic hall, the magnificence of which baifies my powers of 
•description. 

“ It was illuminated by ten thousand waxlights, whose splendor 
at first dazzled my eyes, coming as we did from these dark and 
secret avenues. But when my sight began to become steady, how 
shall 1 describe what 1 beheld? Beneath were huge ranges of 
tables, occupied by princes and nobles in their robes of state— high 
officers of the crown, wearing their dresses and badges of authority 
— reverend prelates and judges, the sages of the church and law, in 
their more somber, yet not less awful, robes— with others whose 
antique and striking costume announced their importance, though 
1 could not even guess who they might be. But at length the truth 
burst on me at once — it was, and the murmurs around confirmed it, 
the Coronation Feast. At the table above the rest, and extending 
across the upper end ot the hall, sat enthroned the youthful sover- 
eign himself, surrounded by the princes of the blood, and other 
dignitaries, and receiving the suit and homage of his subjects. 
Heralds and pursuivants, blazing in their fantastic yet splendid 
armorial habits, and pages of honor, gorgeously arrayed in the garb 
of other days, waited upon the princely banqueters. In the galleries 
with which this spacious hall was surrounded, shoue all, and more 
than all, that my poor imagination could conceive of what was brill- 
iant in riches, or captivating in beauty. Countless rows of ladies, 
whose diamonds, jewels, and splendid attire, were their least power- 
ful charms, looked down from their lofty seats on the rich scene be- 
neath, themselves forming a show as dazzling and as beautiful as 
that of which they were spectators. Under these galleries, and 
behind the banqueting tables, were a multitude of gentlemen, 
dressed as it to attend a court, but whose garb, although rich 
enough to have adorned a royal drawing-room, could not distinguish 
them in such a scene as this. Amongst these we wandered for a few 
minutes, undistinguished and unregarded. 1 saw several young 
persons dressed as 1 was, so was under no embarrassment from the 
singularity of my habit, and only rejoiced, as 1 hung on my uncle’s 
arm, at the magical splendor of such a scene, and at his goodness 
for procuring me the pleasure of beholding it. 

“ By and by I perceived that my uncle had acquaintances among 
those who were under the galleries, and seemed, like ourselves, to 


272 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


be mere spectators of the solemnity. They recognized each other 
with a single word, sometimes only with a gripe of the hand— ex- 
changed some private signs, doubtless — and gradually formed a little 
group, in the center of which we Were placed. 

“‘Is it not a grand sight, Lilias?’ said my uncle. ‘All the 
noble, and all the wise, and all the wealthy of Britaiu, are there as- 
sembled. ’ 

“ ‘ It is, indeed,’ said 1, ‘ all that my mind could have fancied of - 
regal power and splendor.’ 

“ * Girl,’ he whispered — and my uncle can make his whispers as * 
terribly emphatic as his thundering voice or his blighting look — * all 
that is noble and worthy in this fair land are there assembled — but 
it is to bend like slaves and sycophants before the throne of a new 
usurper. ’ 

“ 1 looked at him, and the dark hereditary frown of our unhappy 
ancestor was black upon his brow. 

“ ‘ For God’s sake,’ 1 whispered, ‘ consider where we are.' 

“ ‘ Fear nothing,’ he said; ‘ we are surrounded by friends.’ As 
he proceeded, his strong and muscular frame shook with suppressed, 
agitation. ‘ See,’ he said, ‘ yondei bends Norfolk, renegade to his 

Catholic faith; there stoops the Bishop of -, traitor to the 

Church of England; and — shame of shames! — yonder the gigantic 
form of Errol bows his head before the grandson of his father’s 
murderer! But a sign shall be seen this night amongst them— Mene> 
Mene, Tekel, Upharsin, shall be read on^tliese walls, as distinctly 
as the spectral handwriting made them visible on those of Bel- 
shazzar!’ 

“ * For God’s sake,’ said I, dreadfully alarmed, ‘ it is impossible 
you can meditate violence in such a presence!’ 

“ * None is intended, fool,’ lie answered, 4 nor can the slightest mis- 
chance happen, provided you will rally your boasted courage, and 
obey my directions. But do it coolly and quickly, for there are a 
hundred lives at stake.’ 

“ ‘ Alas! what can I do!’ 1 asked, in the utmost terror. 

“ 4 Only be prompt to execute my bidding,’ said he; 4 it is but to* 
lift a glove. Here, hold this in your hand — throw the train of your 
dress over it, be firm, composed, and ready — or, at all events, I step 
forward myself.’ 

“ ‘If there is no violence designed,’ 1 said, taking, mechanically* 
the iron glove he put into my hand. 

“ I could not conceive his meaning; but, in the excited state o t 
mind in which 1 beheld him, 1 was convinced that disobedience on 
my part would lead to some wild explosion. 1 felt, from llie emer- 
gency of the occasion, a sudden presence of mind, and resolved to* 
do anything that might avert violence and bloodshed. I was not 
long held in suspense. A loud flourish of trumpets, and the voice- 
of heralds, were mixed with the clatter of horses’ hoofs, while a 
champion, armed at all points, like those I had read of in romances* 
attended by squires, pages, and the whole retinue of chivalry, 
pranced forward, mounted upon a barbed steed. His challenge, in 
defiance of all who dared impeach the title of the new sovereign, 
was recited aloud— once, and again. 


EEDGAUJNTLET. 


27a 

“ ‘ Rush in at the third sounding,’ said my uncle to me, ‘ bring 
me the parader’s gage, and leave mine in lieu of it.’ 

“ 1 could not see how this was to be done, as we were surrounded: 
by people on all sides. But at the third sounding of the trumpets, 
a lane opened as if by word of command, betwixt me and the cham- 
pion. and my uncle’s voice said, ‘ Now, Lilias, now!’ 

“ With a swift and yet steady step, and with a presence of mind 
for which 1 have never since been able to account, 1 discharged the 
perilous commission. 1 was hardly seen, 1 believe, as I exchanged 
the pledges of battle, and in an instant retired. 1 Nobly done, my 
girl!’ said my uncle, at whose side 1 found myself, shrouded, as 1 
was before, by the interposition of the bystanders. ‘ Cover our re- 
treat, gentlemen.’ he whispered to those around him. 

“ Room was made for us to approach the wall, which seemed to 
open, and we were again involved in the dark passages through 
which we had formerly passed. In a small anteroom my uncle 
stopped, and hastily muffling me in a mantle which was lying there, 
we passed the guards — threaded the labyrinth of empty streets and 
courts, and reached our retired lodgings without attracting the least 
attention.” 

“ 1 have often heard,” said Darsie, “ that a female, supposed to 
be a man in disguise — and yet, Lilias, you do not look very mascu- 
line — had taken up the champion’s gauntlet at the present king’s 
coronation, and left in its place a gage of battle, with a paper, 
offering to accept the combat, provided a fair field should be allowed 
for it. 1 have hitherto considered it as an idle tale. 1 little thought 
how nearly 1 was interested in the actors of a scene so daring. How 
could you have courage to go through with it?”* 

‘‘Had I had leisure for reflection,” answered his sister, ‘‘1 
should have refused, from a mixture of principle and of fear. But, 
like many people who do daring actions, I went on because 1 had 


* In excuse of what may be considered as a violent infraction of probability 
in this incident, the Author is under the necessity of quoting a tradition 
which many persons may recollect having heard. It was always said, though 
with very little appearance of truth, that upon the coronation of the late 
George III., when the champion of England, Dymock, or his representative, ap- 

S eared in Westminster Hall, and in the language of chivalry, solemnly wagered 
is body to defend in single combat the right of the young King to the crown of 
these realms, at the moment when he flung down his gauntlet as the gage of 
battle, an unknown female stepped from the crowd and lifted the pledge, leav- 
ing another gage in room of it, with a paper expressing, that if a fair field of 
combat should be allowed, a champion of rank and birth would appear with 
equal arms to dispute the claim of King George to the British kingdoms. The 
story is probably one of the numerous fictions which were circulated to keep up 
the spirits of a sinking faction. The incident was, however, possible, if it could 
be supposed to be attended by any motive adequate to the risk, and might be 
imagined to occur to a person of Redgauntlet’s enthusiastic character. George 
III., it is said, had a police of his own, whose agency was so efficient, that the 
Sovereign was able to tell his Prime Minister on one occasion, to his great sur- 
prise, that the Pretender was in London. The Prime Minister began immedi- 
ately to talk of measures to be taken, Avarrants to be procured, messengers and 
guards to be got in readiness. “ Pooh, pooh.” said the good-natured Sovereign* 
" since I have found him out, leave me alone to deal with him.” “ And what,” 
said the Minister, “is your Majesty’s purpose in so important a case?” “To 
leave the young man to himself,” said George III. ; “ and when he tires he will 
go back again.” The truth of this story does not depend on that of the lifting 
of the gauntlet ; and while the latter could be but an idle bravado, the former 
expresses George HI.’s goodness of heart and soundness of policy. 


274 


REDGAUNTLET. 


not time to tliink of retreating. The matter was little known, and 
it is said the king had commanded that it should not be further in- 
quired into — from prudence, as 1 supposed, and lenity, t Dough my 
uncle chooses to ascribe the forbearance of the Elector of Hanover, 
as he calls him, sometimes to pusillanimity, and sometimes to a pre- 
sumptuous scoin of the faction who opposes his title.” 

“ And have your subsequent agencies under this frantic enthu- 
siast,” said Darsie, “ equaled this m danger?” 

“No — nor in importance,” replied .Lilias; “though 1 have wit- 
nessed much of the strange and desperate machinations, by which, 
in sp^te of every obstacle, and in contempt of every danger, he en- 
deavors to awaken the courage of a broken party. 1 have traversed, 
in his company, all England and Scotland, and have visited the 
most extraordinary and contrasted scenes ; now lodging at the cas- 
tles of the proud gentry of Cheshire and Wales, where the retired 
aristocrats, with opinions as antiquated as their dwellings and their 
manners, still continue to nourish jacobitical principles; and the 
next week, perhaps, spent among outlawed smugglers, or Highland 
banditti. I have known my uncle often act the part of a hero, and 
sometimes that of a mere vulgar conspirator, and turn himself, with 
the most surprising flexibility, into all sorts of shapes to attract 
proselytes to his cause.” 

“ Which, in the present day,” said Darsie, “ he finds, 1 presume, 
no easy task.” 

“ So difficult,” said Lilias, “ that, I believe, he has, at different 
times, disgusted with the total falling away of some friends, and the * 
coldness of others, been almost on the point of resigning his under- 
taking. How often 1 have known him affect an open blow and a 
jovial manner, joining in the games of the gentry, and even in the 
sports of the common people, in order to invest himself with a tem- 
porary degree of popularity; while, in fact, his heart was bursting 
to witness what he called the degeneracy of the times, the decay of 
activity among the aged, and the want of zeal in the rising genera- 
tion. After the day has been spent in the hardest exercise, lie has 
spent the night in pacing his solitary chamber, bewailing the down- 
fall of the cause, and wishing for the bullet of Dundee, or the ax of 
Balmerino.” 

“ A strange delusion,” said Darsie; “ and it is wonderful that it 
does not yield to the force of reality.” 

“ Ah, but,” replied Lilias, “ realities of late have seemed to flat- 
ter his hopes. The general dissatisfaction with the peace — the un- 
popularity of the Minister, which has extended itself even to the 
pei son of liis master — the various uproars which have disturbed the 
peace of the metropolis, and a general state of disgust and disaffec- 
tion, which seems to affect the body of the nation, have given un- 
wonted encouragement to the expiring hopes of the Jacobites, and 
induced many, both at the Court of Rome, and, if it can be called 
so, of the Pretender, to lend a mare favorable ear than they have 
hitherto done to the insinuations of those, who, like my uncle, hope, 
when hope is lost to all but themselves. Nay, 1 really believe that 
at this moment they meditate some desperate effort. My uncle has 
been doing all in liis power, of late, to conciliate the affections of 
those wild communities that dwell on the Solway, over whom our 


REDGAUNTLET. 


275 

family possessed the seigniorial interest before the forfeiture, and 
amongst whom, on the occasion ot 1745, our unhappy father’s in- 
terest, with his own, raised a considerable body of meu. But they 
are no longer willing to obey his summons; and, as one apology 
among others, they allege your abseuce as their natural head and 
leader. This has increased his desire to obtain possession of your 
person, and, if he possibly can, to influence your mind, so as to ob- 
tain your authority to his proceedings.’' 

“ That he shall never obtain,” answered Darsie; “ my principles 
and my prudence alike forbid such a step. Besides, it would be 
totally unavailing to his purpose. Whatever these people may pre- 
tend, to evade your uncle’s importunities, they can not, at this time 
of day, think of subjecting their necks again to the feudal yoke, 
which was effectually broken by the Act of 1748, abolishing vassal- 
age and hereditary jurisdictions.”- 

“ Ay, but that my uncle considers as the act of an usurping gov- 
ernment,” said Lilias. 

‘'Like enough he may think so,” answered her brother, “ for he 
is a superior, and loses his authority by the enactment. But the 
question is, what the vassals will think ot it, who have gained their 
freedom from feudal slavery, and have now enjoyed that freedom 
for many years?' However, to cut the matter short, if five hundred 
men would rise at the wagging of my finger, that finger shall not 
be raised in the cause which 1 disapprove of, and that my uncle 
may reckon.” 

“ But you may temporize,” said Lilias, upon whom the idea of 
her uncle’s displeasure made evidently a strong impression — “ you 
may temporize, as most of the gentry in this country do, and let the 
bubble burst ot itself; for it is singular how few of them venture to 
oppose my uncle directly. 1 entreat you to avert direct collision 
with him. To hear’ you, the head of the House of Redgauntlet, de- 
clare against the family of Stuart, would either break his heart or 
drive him to some act of desperation.” 

“ Yes, but, Lilias, you forget that the consequences of such an 
act of complaisance might be, that the house of Redgauntlet and I 
might lose both our heads at one blow.” 

“ Alas!” said she, “ I had forgotten that danger. I have grown 
familiar with perilous intrigues, as the nurses in a pest-house are 
said to become accustomed to the air around them, till they forget 
even that it is noisome.” 

“ And yet,” said Darsie, “ if I could free myself from him with- 
out coming to an open rupture— tell me, Lilias, do you think it pos- 
sible that he can have any immediate attempt in view?” 

” To confess the truth,” answered Lilias, “ 1 can not doubt that 
he has. There has been an unusual bustle among the Jacobites of 
late. They have hopes, as 1 told you, from circumstances uncon- 
nected with their own strength. Just before you came to the coun- 
try, my uncle’s desire to find you out became, if possible, more eager 
than ever — he talked of men to be presently brought together, and 
of your name and influence for raising them. At this very time, 
your first visit to Brokenburn took place. A suspicion arose in my 
unde’s mind, that you might be the youth he sought, and it was- 
strengthened by papers and letters which the rascal Nixon did not 


REDGAUNTLET. 


276 

hesitate to take from your pocket. Yet a mistake might have occa- 
sioned a fatal explosion; and my uncle therefore posted to Edin- 
burgh to follow out the clew he had obtained, and fished enough of 
information from old Mr. Fairford tD make him certain that you 
were the peison he sought. Meanwhile, and at the expense of some 
personal and perhaps too bold exertion, I endeavored, through your 
young friend Fairford, to put you on your guard.” 

“ Without success,” said Darsie, blushing under his mask, when 
he recollected how he had mistaken his sister’s meaning. 

”1 do not wonder that my warning was fruitless,” said she; 
“ the thing was doomed to be. Besides, your escape would have 
been difficult. You were dogged the whole time you were at the 
Shepherd’s Bush and at Mount Sharon, by a spy who scarcely ever 
left you.” 

“ The wretch, little Benjie!” exclaimed Darsie. ”1 will wring 
the monkey’s neck round, the first time we meet.” 

“It was he indeed who gave constant information of your mo- 
tions to Ciistal Nixon,” said Lilias. 

“ And Cristai Nixon— 1 owe him. too, a day’s work in harvest,” 
said Darsie; “for I am mistaken if he was not the person that 
struck me down when I was made a prisoner among. the rioters.” 

“ Like enough; for he has a head and hand for any villainy. My 
uncle was very angry about it; for though the riot was made to 
have an opportunity of carrying you off in Ihe confusion, as well as 
to put the fishermen at variance with the public law, it would have 
been his last thought to have injured a hair of your head. But 
Nixon has insinuated himself into all my uncle’s secrets, and some 
of these are so dark and dangerous, that though there are few things 
he would not dare. I doubt if he dare quarrel with him. And yet 1 
know that of Cristai would move my uncle to pass his sword 
through his body.” 

“ What is it, for Heaven’s sake?” said Darsie. “ I have a par- 
ticular desire for wishing to know.” 

“ The old, brutal desperado, whose face and mind are alibel upon 
human nature, has had tne insolence to speak to his master’s niece 
as one whom he was at liberty to admire; and when 1 turned on 
him with the anger and contempt he merited, the wretch grumbled 
out something, as if he held the destiny of our family in his hand.” 

“ 1 thank you, Lilias,” said Darsie, eagerly. “ 1 thank you with 
all my heart for this communication. 1 have blamed myself as a 
Christian man for the indescribable longing 1 felt, from the first 
moment 1 saw that rascal, to send a bullet through his head; and 
now you have perfectly accounted for and justified this very lauda- 
ble wish. 1 wonder my uncle, with the powerful sense you de- 
scribe him to be possessed of, does not see through such a villain.” 

“ 1 believe he knows him to be capable of much evil,” answered 
Lilias' — “selfish, obdurate, brutal, and a man-hater. But then he 
conceives him to possess the qualities most requisite for a conspira- 
tor-undaunted courage, imperturbable coolness and address, and 
inviolable fidelity. In the last particular he may be mistaken. 1 
have heard Nixon blamed for the manner in which our poor father 
was taken after Culloden.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 277 

“ Another reason for my innate aversion,” said Darsie; “ but 1 
•will be on my guard with him.” 

‘‘See, he observes us closely,” said Lilias. “What a thing is 
conscience! He knows we are now speaking of him. though he can 
not have heard a word that we have said.” 

It seemed as if s e had guessed truly; for Cristal JNixon at that 
moment rode up to them, and said, with an affectation of jocularity, 
which sat very ill on his sullen features, ‘‘ Come, young ladies, you 
have had time enough for your chat this morning, and your 
tongues, I think, must be tired. We are going to pass a vilfage, 
and I must beg you to separate— you, Miss Lilias, to ride a little 
behind— and you, Mrs. or Miss, or Master, whichever you choose to 
be called, to be jogging a little before.” 

Lilias checked her horse without speaking, but not until she had 
given her brother an expressive look, recommending caution; to 
which he replied by a signal, indicating that he understood and 
would comply with her request. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

NARRATIVE OF DARSIE LATIMER, CONTINUED. 

Left to his solitary meditations, Darsie (for we will still term Sir 
Arthur Darsie Redgauntlet of that Ilk by the name to which the 
reader is habituated) was surprised not only at the alteration of his 
own state and condition, but at the equanimity with which he felt 
himself disposed to view all the vicissitudes. 

His fever-fit of love had departed like a morning’s dream, and 
left nothing behind but a painful sense of shame, and a resolution 
to be more cautious ere be again indulged in such romantic visions. 
His station in society was changed from that of a wandering, un- 
owned youth, in whom none appeared to take an interest, excepting 
the strangers by whom he had been educated, to the heir of a noble 
house, possessed of such influence and such property, that it seemed 
as if the progress or arrest of important political events was likely 
to depend upon his resolution. Even this sudden elevation, the 
more than fulfillment of those wishes which had haunted him ever 
since he was able to form a wish on the subject, was contemplated 
by Darsie, volatile as his disposition was, without more than a few 
thrills of gratified vanity. 

It is true, there were circumstances in his present situation to 
counterbalance such high advantages. To be a prisoner in the hands 
of a man so determined as his uncle was no agreeable consideration, 
wfien he was calculating how he might best dispute his pleasure, 
and refuse to join him in the perilous enterprise which he seemed 
to meditate. Outlawed and desperate himself, Darsie could not 
doubt that his uncle was surrounded by men capable of anything — 
that he was restrained by no personal considerations— and therefore 
what degree of compulsion he might apply to his brother's son, or in 
what m/anner he might feel at liberty to punish his contumacy, 
should he disavow the Jacobite cause, must depend entirely upon 
the limits of his own conscience; and who was to answer for the 


REDGAUNTLET. 


278 

conscience of a heated enthusiast, who considers opposition to the 
party he has espoused as treason to the welfare ot his country? After 
a short interval, Cristal Nixon was pleased to throw some light upon 
the subject which agitated him. 

When that grim satellite rode up without ceremony close to Dar- 
sio’s side, the latter felt his very flesh creep with abhorrence, so little 
was he able to endure his presence, since the story of Lilias had 
added to bis instinctive hatred of the man. 

His voice, too, sounded like that of a screech-owl, as he said, 
“So, my young cock of the north, you now know it all, and no 
doubt you are blessing 3 r our uncle for stirring you up to such an 
honorable action.” 

“ 1 will acquaint my uncle with my sentiments on the subject be- 
fore 1 make them known to any one else,” said Darsie, scarcely 
prevailing on his tongue to utter even these few words in a civil 
manner. 

“ Umph,” murmured Cristal betwixt his teeth. “ Close as wax, 

1 see; and perhaps not quite so pliable. But take care, my pretty 
youth,” he added, scornfully; “Hugh Redgauntlet will prove a 
rough colt-breaker — he will neither spare whipcord nor spur-rowel, 
1 promise you.” 

“ 1 have already said, Mr. Nixon,” answered Darsie, “ that 1 will 
canvass those mutters of which my sister has informed me with my 
uncle himself, and with no other peison.” 

“Nay, but a word of friendly advice would do you no harm, 
young master,” replied Nixon. “ Old Redgauntlet is apter at a 
blow than a word — likely to bite before he barks-^the true man for 
giving Scarborough warning, first knock you down, then bid you 
stand. So, methinks, a little kind warning as to consequences were 
not amiss, lest they come upon you unawares.” 

“ If the warning is really kind, Mr. Nixon,” said the young man, 

“ 1 will bear it thankfully; and, indeed, if otherwise, 1 must listen 
to it whether 1 will or no, since I have at present no choice of com- 
pany or of conversation.” 

“ Nay, l have but little to say,” said Nixon, affecting to give to 
his sullen and dogged manner the appearance ot an honest blunt- 
ness; “I am as little apt to throw away words as any one, but here 
is the question — Will you join heart and hand with your uncle or 
no?” 

“ What if I should say Ay?” said Darsie determined, if possi- 
ble, to conceal his resolution from this man. 

“ Why, then,” said Nixon, somewhat surprised at the readiness 
of his answer, “ all will go smooth, of course— you will take share 
in this noble undertaking, and tvhen it succeeds, you will exchange 
your open helmet for an earl’s coronet perhaps.” 

“ Aud how if it tails?” said Darsie. 

“ Thereafter as it may be,” said Nixon, “ they who play at bowls 
must meet with rubbers.” 

“Well, but suppose, then, 1 have some foolish tenderness for my 
windpipe, and that when my uncle proposes the adventure to me, I 
should say No— how then, Mr. Nixon?” 

“ Why, then, 1 would have you look to yourself, young master. 
There are sharp laws in France against refractory pupils — lettres 


REDGAUNTLET. 279 

de^ cacfiet are easily come by, when such men as we are concerned 
with, interest themselves in the matter.” 

“ But we nre not in France,” said poor Darsie, through whose 
blood ran cold shivering at the idea, of a French prison. 

“ A fast-sailing lugger will soon bring yon there though, snug 
stowed under hatches, like a cask of moonlight.” 

“ But the French are at peace w r ith us,” said Darsie, 44 and would 
not dare — ” 

14 Why, who would ever hear of you?” interrupted Nixon; •* do 
you imagine that a foreign Court would call you up for judgment, 
and put the sentence of imprisonment in the Conner de VEurope, 
as they do at the Old Bailey? No, no, young gentleman— the 
gates of the Bastile, and of Mont Saint Michel, ami the Castle of 
Vincennes, move on d — d easy hinges when they let folk in— not 
the least jar is heard There are cool cells there for hot heads — as 
calm, and quiet, and dark, aB you could wish in Bedlam — and the 
dismissal comes when the carpenter brings the prisoner’s coffin, and 
not sooner.” 

44 Well, Mr. Nixon,” said Darsie, affecting a cheerfulness which 
he was far from feeling, 44 mine is a hard case — a sort of hanging 
choice, you will allow — since 1 must either offend our own Govern- 
ment here, and run the risk of my life for doing so, or be doomed 
to the dungeons of another country, whose laws 1 have never 
offended, since 1 have never trod its soil. Tell me what you would 
do if you were in my place.” • 

44 I’ll tell you that when I am there,” said Nixon, and, checking 
his horse, fell back to the rear of the little ‘party. 

44 It i9 evident,” thought the young man, 44 that the villain believes 
me completely noosed, and perhaps has the ineffable impudence 
to suppose that my sister must eventually succeed to the possessions 
which have occasioned my loss of freedom, and that his own in- 
fluence over the destinies of our unhappy family may secure him 
possession of the heiress; but he shall perish by my hand first! I 
must now be on the alert to make my escape, if possible, before I 
am forced on shipboard — Blind Willie will not, 1 think, desert me, 
without an effort on my behalf, especially if he has learned that L 
am the son of his late unhappy patron. What a change is mine! 
Whilst I possessed neither rank nor fortune, I lived safely and un- 
known, under the protection of the kind and respectable friends 
whose hearts Heaven had moved toward me. Now that 1 am the 
head of an honorable house, and that enterprises of the most daring 
character await my decision, and retainers and vassals seem ready 
to rise at my beck, my safety consists chiefly in the attachment of 
a blind stroller!” 

While he was revolving these things in his mind, and preparing 
liimself for the interview with his uncle, which could not but. be a. 
stormy one, he saw Hugh Redgauntlet come riding slowly back to 
meet them without any attendants. Cristal Nixon rode up as he 
approached, and, as they met, fixed on him a look of inquiry. 

44 The fool, Crackenthorp,” said Redgauntlet, 44 has let strangers 
into his house. Some of his smuggling comrades, 1 believe; we 
must ride slowly to give him time to send them packing.” 

44 Did you see any of your friends?” said Cristal. 


280 


REDGAUNTLET. 


“ Three, and have letters from many more. They are unanimous 
on the subject you wot of— and the point must be conceded to them, 
or, far as the matter has gone, it will go no lurlher.” 

“ You will hardly biing the father to stoop to his flock, ” said 
Cristal, with a sneer. 

“ He must and shall!” answered Kedgauutlet, briefly. “ Go to 
the front, Cristal— 1 would speak with my nephew. 1 trust, Sir 
Arthur Redgauntlet, you are satisfied with the manner in w r hich 1 
have discharged my duty to your sister?” 

‘‘There can be no fault found to her manners or sentiments,” 
answered Darsie; ' ‘ 1 am happy in knowing a relative so amiable.” 

“lam glad of it,” answered Mr. Redgauntlet. “1 am no nice 
judge of women’s qualifications, and my life has been dedicated to 
one great object; so that since she left France she has had but little 
opportunity of improvement. 1 have subjected her, however,’ as 
little as possible to the inconveniences and privations of my wan- 
dering and dangerous life. From time to time she has resided for 
weeks and mouths with families of honor and respectability, and I 
am glad that she has, in your opinion, the manners and behavior 
which become her birth.” 

Darsie expressed himself perfectly satisfied, and there was a little 
pause, which Redgauntlet broke by solemnly addressing his 
nephew. 

“ For you, my nephew, 1 also hoped to have done much. The 
weakness and timidity of your mother sequestered you from my 
care, or it would have been my pride and happiness to have trained 
up the son of my unhappy brother in those paths of honor in which, 
our ancestors have always trod.” 

“ INow comes the storm,” thought Darsie to himself, and began 
to collect his thoughts, as the cautious master of a vessel furls his 
sails, and makes his ship snug, when he discerns the approaching 
squall. 

“ My mother’s conduct in respect to me might be misjudged: it 
was founded on the most anxious affection.” 

“ Assuredly,” said his uncle, “ and 1 have no wish to reflect on 
her memory, though her mistrust has done so much injury, 1 will 
not say to me, but to the cause of my unhappy country. Her 
scheme was, 1 think, to have made you that wretched pettifogging 
being which they still continue to call in derision by the once re- 
spectable name of a Scotch Advocate; one of those mongrel things 
that must creep to learn the ultimate decision of his causes to the bar 
of a foreign Court, instead of pleading before the independent and 
august Parliament of his own native kingdom.” 

“ 1 did prosecute the study of law fora year or two,” said Darsie* 
“ but 1 found 1 had neither taste nor talents for the science.” 

“And left it with scorn, doubtless,” said Mr. Redgauntlet. 

“ Well, 1 now hold up to you, my dearest nephew, a more worthy 
object of ambition. Look eastward— do you see a monument stand- 
ing on yonder plain, near a hamlet?” 

Darsie replied that he did. 

“ The hamlet is called Burgh- upon-Sands, and yonder monument 
is erected to the memory of the tyrant Edward 1. The just hand of 
Providence overtook him on that spot, as he was leading his bands 


REDGAUXTLET. 


281 


to complete the subjugation of Scotland, whose civil dissensions be- 
g/m under his accursed policy. The glorious career ot Bruce might 
have been stopped in its outset; the field of Bannockburn might 
have remained a bloodless turt, if God had not removed, in the 
very crisis, the crafty and bold tyrant who had so long been Scot- 
land’s scourge. Edward’s gravels the cradle of our national free- 
dom. It is within sight of that great landmark of our liberty that 
1 have to propose to you an undertaking, second in honor and im- 
portance to none since the immortal Bruce stabbed the Bed Comyn, 
and grasped with his yet bloody hand the independent crown of 
Scotland.” 

He paused for an answer; but Darsie, overawed by the energy of 
his manner, and unwilling to commit himself by a hasty explana- 
tion. remained silent. 

“ L will not suppose,” said Hush Redgauntlet, after a pause, 
*“ that you are either so dull as not to comprehend the import of 
my words — or so dastardly as to be dismayed by my proposal —or so 
utterly degenerate from the blood and sentiments of your ancestors, 
as not to teel my summons as the horse hears the war trumpet.” 

“ 1 will not pretend to misunderstand you, sir,” said Darsie; 
"“but an enterprise diiected against a dynasty now established for 
three reigns requires strong arguments, both in point ot justice and of 
expediency, to recommend it to men of conscience and prudence.” 

“ 1 will not,” said Redgauntlet, while his eyes sparkled with 
anger— “ I will not hear you speak a word againsi the justice of 
that enterprise, for which your oppressed country calls with the 
voice of a parent, entreating her children tor aid — or against that 
noble revenge which your father’s blood demands from his dis- 
honored grave. His skull is yet standing over the Rikargate,* and 
even its bleak and moldered jaws command you 10 be a man. 1 ask 
you in the name of God, and ot your country, will you draw your 
sword and go with me to Carlisle, were it but to lay your father’s 
head, now the perch of the obscene owl and carrion crow, and the 
scolf of every ribald clown, in consecrated earth, as befits his long 
ancestry?” 

Darsie, unprepared to answer an appeal urged with so much 
passion, and not doubting a direct refusal would cost him his 
liberty or his life, was again silent. 

“ 1 see,” said his uncle, in a more composed tone, “ that it is not 
deficiency ot spirit, but the groveling habits ot a confined education, 
among the poor-spirited class you were condemned io herd with, 
that keeps you silent. You scarce yet believe yourself a Red- 
gauntlet; your pulse has not yet learned the genuine throb that an- 
swers to the summons of honor and of patiiotism.” 

“1 trust,” replied Darsie, at last, “that I shall never be found 
indifferent to the call ot either; but to answer them with effect — even 
were 1 convinced that they now sounded in my ear— 1 must see some 
reasonable hope of success in the desperate enterprise in which you 
w r ould involve me. 1 look around me and 1 see a settled Govern- 
ment — an established authority — a born Briton on the throne — the 


* The northern gate of Carlisle was long garnished with the heads of the 
Scottish rebels executed in 1746. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


282 

very Highland mountaineers, upon whom alone the trust of the 
exiled family reposed, assembled into regiments, which act under 
the orders of the existing dynasty.* France has been utterly 
dismayed by the tremendous lessons ot the last war, and will hardly 
provoke another. All without and within the kingdom is adverse to 
encountering a hopeless struggle, and you alone, sir, seem willing to 
undertake a desperate enterprise.” 

“ And would undertake it were it ten times more desperate;" and 
have agitated it when ten times the obstacles were interposed. Have 
1 forgot my brother’s blood? Can 1 — dare 1 even now repeat the 
Pater Noster, since my enemies and the murderers remain uuforgiv- 
en? is there an art I have not practiced — a privation to which I 
have not submitted, to bring on the crisis, which 1 now behold 
arrived? Have I not been a vowed and a devoted man, foregoing 
every comfort of social life, renouncing even the exercise of devotion, 
unless when 1 might name in prayer my prince and country, sub- 
mitting to everything to make converts to this noble cause? Have 
1 done all this, and shall I now stop short?” Darsie was about to 
interrupt him, but he pressed his hand affectionately upon his 
shoulder, and enjoining or rather imploring silence — “Peace,” he 
said, “ heir of my ancestors’ fame — heir of all my hopes and wishes 
— peace, son ot my slaughtered brother! 1 have sought tor thee, 
and mourned for thee, as a mother for an only child. Do not let 
me again lose you in the moment when you are restored to my hopes. 
Believe me, 1 distrust so much my own impatient temper, that I 
entreat you, as the dearest boon, do naught to awaken it at this 
crisis.” 

Darsie was not sorry to reply that his respect for the person of his 
relation would induce him to listen to all which he had to apprise 
him ot before he formed any definite resolution upon the weighty 
subjects of deliberation which he proposed to him. 

“Deliberation!” repeated Redgauntet, impatiently; “and yet it 
is not ill said. 1 wish there had been more warmth in thy reply, 
Arthur; but 1 must recollect, were an eagle bred iu a falcon’s mew, 
and hooded like a reclaimed hawk, he could not at first gaze steadily 
on the sun. Listen to me, my dearest Arthur. The state of this 
nation no more implies prosperity, than the florid color ot a fever- 
ish patient is a symptom of health. All is false find hollow. The 
apparent success of Chatham’s administration has plunged the coun- 
tiy deeper in debt than all the barren acres ot Canada are worth, 
were they as fertile as Yorkshire— the dazzling luster of the victories 
of Minden and Quebec have been dimmed by the disgrace of the 
hasty peace— by the war, England, at immense expense, gained 
nothing but honor, and that she' has gratuitously resigned. Many 
eyes, formerly cold and indifferent, are now looking toward the 
line ot our ancient and rightful monarchs, as the only refuge in the 
approaching storm— the rich are alarmed— the nobles are disgusted 
— the populace are inflamed — and a band of patriots, whose meaS' 


* The Highland regiments were first employed by the celebrated Earl of 
Chatham, who assumed to himself no small degree of praise for having called 
forth to the support of the country and the government the valor which had 
been too often directed against both. 


REDGAUNTLET. 283 

ures ave more safe than their numbers are few, have resolved to set 
up King Charles’s standard.” 

“ But the military,” said Darsie— “ how can you, with a body of 
unarmed and disorderly insurgents, propose to encounter a regular 
army? The Highlanders are now totally disarmed.” 

‘‘In a great measure, perhaps,” answered Redgauntlet; “ but the 
policy which raised the Highland regiments has provided for that. 
We have already friends in these corps; nor can we doubt fora 
moment what their conduct will be, when the white cockade is once 
more mounted. The rest of the standing army has Deen greatly 
reduced since the peace; and we reckon confidently on our standard 
being joined by thousands of the disbanded troops.” 

“ Alas!” said Darsie, “ and is it upon such vague hopes as these, 
the inconstant humor of a crow 7 d, or of a disbanded soldiery, that 
men of honor are invited to risk their families, their property, their 
life?” 

“ Men of honor, boy,” said Redgauntlet, his eyes glancing with 
impatience, “ set life, property, family, and all at stake, when that 
honor commamds it! We are not now weaker than when seven 
men, landing in the wilds of Moidart, shook the throne of the 
usurper till it tottered— won two pitched fields, besides overrunning 
one kingdom and the half of another, and but for treachery, wmuld 
have achieved what their venturous successors are now to" attempt 
in their turn.” 

“ And will such an attempt be made in serious earnest?” said 
Darsie. “Excuse me, my uncle, if I can scarce believe a fact so 
extraordinary. Will there really be found men of rank and conse- 
quence sufficient to renews the adventure of 1745?” 

“ 1 will not give you my confidence by halves, Sir Arthur,” re- 
plied his uncle. “ Look "at that scroll — what say j r ou to these 
names? Are they not the flower of the western shires — of Wales— 
of Scotland?” 

“ The paper contains indeed the names of many that are great 
.and noble,” replied Darsie, after perusing it; “ but—” 

“ But what?” asked his ancle, impatiently; “ do you doubt the 
ability of those nobles and gentlemen to furnish the aid in men and 
money, at which they are rated?” 

“ Not their ability certainly,” said Darsie, “ for of that 1 am no 
competent judge;— but 1 see in this scroll the name of Sir Arthur 
Daisie Redgauntlet of that Ilk, rated at a hundred men and upward 
— I certainly am ignorant how he is to redeem tlial pledge.” 

“ I will be responsible for the men,” replied Hugh Redgauntlet. 

“But, my dear uncle,” added Darsie, “1 hope for your sake, 
that the other individuals, whose names are here w ritten, have had 
more acquaintance with your plan than 1 have been indulged with.” 

“ For thee and thine 1 can be myself responsible,” said Red- 
gauntlet; “ for if thou hast not the courage to head the force of thy 
house, the leading shall pass to oilier hands, and thy inheritance 
shall depart lrom thee, like vigor and verduie from a rotten branch. 
For these honorable persons, a slight condition there is which 
they annex to their friendship — something so trifling that It is scarce 
worthy of mention. This boon grauted to them by him who is 


284 KEDGATOTLET. 

most interested, there is no question ihey will take the field in the 
manner there stated. ’ ’ 

Again Darsie perused the paper, and felt himself still less inclined 
to believe that so many men of family and fortune were likely 7 to 
embark in an entefprise so fatal. It seemed as if some rash plotter 
had put down at a venture the names of all whom common report 
tainted with Jacobitism; or if it was really the act of the individ- 
uals named, he suspected that they must be aware of some mode of 
excusing themselves from compliance with its purport. It was im- 
possible, he thought, that Englishmen of large fortune, who had 
failed to join Charles when he broke into England at the head of 
a victorious army, should have the least thoughts of encouraging a 
descent when circumstances were so much less propitious. He 
therefore concluded the enterprise would fall to pieces of itself, and 
that his best way was, in the meantime, tD remain silent, unless the 
actual approach of a crisis (which might, however, never arrive) 
should compel him to give a downright refusal to his uncle s propo- 
sition; and if, in the interim, some door for escape should be opened, 
he resolved within himself not to omit availing himself of it. 

Hugh Redgauntlet watched his nephew’s looks for some time, 
and then, as if arriving from some other process of reasoning at the 
same conclusion, he said, “ 1 have told you, Sir Arthur, that 1 do 
not urge your immediate accession to my proposal; indeed the con- 
sequences of a refusal would be so dreadful to yourself, so destruc- 
tive to all the hopes which I have nursed, that 1 would not risk, by 
a moment’s impatience, the object of my whole life. Yes, Arthui, 
1 have been a self-denying hermit at one time — at another the ap- 
parent associate of outlaws and desperadoes — at another, the subor- 
dinate agent of men whom I felt in every way 7 my 7 interiors — not for 
any selfish purpose of my own, no, not even to win for myself the 
renown of being the principal instrument in restoring my king and 
treeing my country. My first wish on earth is lor that restoration 
and that freedom— -my next, that my nephew, the representative of 
my house, and of the brother of my love, may have the advantage 
and the credit of all my efforts in the good cause. But,” he added, 
darting on Darsie one of his withering frowns, “if Scotland and 
my father’s house car. not stand and flourish together, then perish 
the very name of Redgauntlet! perish the son of my brother, with 
every recollection of the glories of my family, of the affections of 
my youth, rather than my country’s cause should be injured in the 
tithing of a barleycorn! The spirit of Sir Alberick is alive within 
me at this moment,” he continued, drawing up his stately form and 
sitting erect in his saddle, while he piessed his finger against his 
forehead; “and if you yourself crossed my path in opposition, I 
swear, by the mark that darkens my brow, "that a new deed should 
be done— a new doom should be deserved!” 

He was silent, and his threats were uttered in a tone of voice so 
deeply resolute, that Darsie’s heart sunk within him, when he re- 
flected on the storm of passion which he must encounter, it he de- 
clined to join his uncle in a project to which prudence and principle 
made him equally adverse. He had scarce any hope left but in 
temporizing until he could make his escape, and resolved to avail 
himself, for that purpose, of the delay which his uncle seemed not 


REDGAUNTLET. 


285 

unwilling to grant. The stern, gloomy look of his companion be- 
came relaxed by degrees, and presently afterward he made a sigh to 
Miss Redgauntlet to join the party, and began a forced conversation 
on ordinary topics; in the course of which Darsie observed that his 
sister seemed to speak under the most cautious restraint, weighing; 
every word before she uttered it, and always permitting her uncle 
to give the tone to the conversation, though of the most trilling 
kind. This seemed to him (such an opinion had he already enter- 
tained of his sister’s good sense and firmness) the strongest proof he 
had yet received of his uncle’s peremptory character, since he saw 
it observed with so much deference by a young person, whose sex 
might have given her privileges, and who seemed by no means de- 
ficient either in spirit or firmness. 

The little cavalcade was now approaching the house of Father 
Crackenthorp, situated, as the reader knows, by the side of the Sol- 
way, and no; far distant from a rude pier, near which lay several 
fishing-boats, which frequently acted in a different capacity. The 
house of the worthy publican was also adapted to the various occu- 
pations which he carried on, being a large scrambling assemblage 
of cottages attached to a house of two stories, rooted with flags of 
sandstone — the original mansion, to which the extensions ot Mr. 
Cracken thorp’s trade had occasioned his making many additions. 
Instead of the single long watering trough which usually distin- 
guishes the front of the English public-house of the second chiss, 
there were three conveniences of that kind, for the use, as the land- 
lord used to say. of the troop-horses, when the soldiers came to 
search his house; while a knowing leer and a nod let you under- 
stand what species of troops he was thinking of. A huge ash-tree 
before the door, which had reared itself to a great size and height, 
in spite of the blasts from the neighboring Solway, overshadowed, 
as usual, the ale-bench, as our ancestors called it, where, though it 
was still early in the day, several fellows, who seemed to be gentle- 
men’s servants, were drinking beer and smoking. One or two of 
them wore liveries, which seemed known to Mr. Redgauntlet, for 
he muttered between his teeth, Fools, fools! were they on a march 
to hell, they must have their rascals in livery with them, that the 
whole world might know who were going to be damned.” 

As he thus muttered he drew bridle before the door of the place, 
from which several other lounging guests began to issue, to look 
with indolent curiosity, as usual, upon an arrival. 

Redgauntlet sprung from his horse, and assisted his niece to dis- 
mount; but forgetting, perhaps, his nephew’s disguise, he did not 
pay him the attention which his female dress demanded. 

The situation ot Darsie was indeed something awkward; for 
Cristal Nixon, out of caution perhaps to prevent escape, had muffled 
the extreme folds of the riding-skirt with which he was accoutered, 
around his ankles aud under his feet, and there secured it with large 
corking-pins. We presume that gentlemen cavaliers may sometimes 
cast their eyes to that part of the person of the fair equestrians 
whom they chance occasionally to escort; and it they will conceive 
their own feet, like Darsie’s, muffled in such a labyrinth of folds and 
amplitude of robe, as modesty doubtless induces the fair creatures 
to assume upon such occasions, they will allow that, on a first at- 


286 


REDGAUNTLET. 


tempt, they might find, some awkwardness in dismounting. Darsie, 
at least, was in such a predicament, for, not receiving adroit assist- 
ance from the attendant ot Mr. Redgauntlet, lie stumbled as he dis- 
mounted from the horse, and might have had a bad fall, had it not 
been broken by the gallant interposition ot a gentleman, who prob- 
ably was, on his part, a little surprised at the solid weight of the 
distressed fair one whom he had the honor to receivein his embrace. 
But what was his surprise to that of Darsie, when the hurry of the 
moment, and of the accident, permitted him to see that it was his 
friend Alan Fairford in whose arms he found himself! A thousand 
apprehensions rushed on him, mingled with the full career of hope 
and joy, inspired by the unexpected appearance of his beloved friend 
at the very crisis, it seemed, of his fate. 

He was about to whisper in his ear, cautioning him at the same 
time to be silent; yet he hesitated for a second or two to effect his 
purpose, since, should Redgauntlet take the alarm from any sudden 
exclamation on the part of Alan, there was no saying what conse- 
quences might ensue. 

Ere he could decide what was to be done, Redgaunrlet, who had 
eniered the house, returned hastily, followed by Cristal Nixon. 
“ I’ll release you of the charge ot this young lady, sir,” he said, 
haughtily, to Alan Fairford, whom lie probably did not recognize. 

“ 1 had no desire to intrude, sir,” replied Alan; “ the lady’s situa- 
tion seemed to require assistance— and— hut have 1 not the honor to 
speak to Mr. Herries of Birrenswork?” 

“You are mistaken, sir,” said Redgauntlet, turning short off, 
and making a sign with his hand to Cristal, who hurried Darsie, 
however unwillingly, into the house, whispering in liis]ear, ” Come, 
miss, let us have no making ot acquaintance from the windows. 
Ladies of fashion must be private. Show us a room, Father Brack- 
en! horp.” 

So saying, he conducted Darsie into the house, interposing at the 
same time his person betwixt the supposed young lady and the 
stranger of whom he was suspicious, so as to make communication 
by signs impossible. As they entered, they heard the sound of a 
fiddle in the stone-floored and well-sanded kitchen, through which 
they were to follow their corpulent host, and where several people 
seemed engaged in dancing to its strains. 

“ D — n thee,” said Nixon to Crackenthorp, “ would you have the 
lady go through all the mob of the parish? Hast thou no more 
private way to our sitting-room?” 

“ None that is ht for my traveling,” answered the landlord, lay- 
ing his hand on his portly stomach. “ 1 am not Tom Turnpenny, 
to creep like a lizzard through keyholes.” 

So saying, he kept moving on through the revelers in the kitchen; 
and Nixon, holding Darsie by his arm, as if to offer the lady sup- 
port, but in all probability to frustrate any effort at escape, moved 
through the crowd, which presented a very motley appearance, con- 
sisting of domestic servants, country fellows, seamen, and other 
idlers, whom Wandering Willie was regaling with his music. 

To pass another friend without intimation ot his presence would 
have been actual pusillanimity; and just when they were passing 
the blind man’s elevated seat Darsie asked him, with some em- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


28 ? 


phasis, whether he could not play a Scottish air? The man’s face had 
been the instant before devoid of all sort of expression, going- 
through his performance like a clown through a beautiful country, 
too much accustomed to consider it as a task, to take any interest in 
the performance, and, iu fact, scarce seeming to hear the noise that 
he was creating. In a word, he might at the time have made a 
companion to my friend Wilkie’s inimitable blind crowder. But 
with Wandering Willie this was only ah occasional and a rare fit of 
dullness, such as will at times creep over all the professors of the fine 
arts, arising either from fatigue or contempt of the present audience, 
or that caprice which so often tempts painters and musicians, and 
great actors, in the phrase of the latter, to walk through their part, 
instead of exerting themselves with the energy which acquired their 
fame. But when the performer heard the voice of Darsie, his 
countenance became at once illuminated, and showed the complete 
mistake of those who suppose that the principal point of expression 
depends on the eyes. With his face turned to the point from which 
the sound came, his upper lip a little curved, and quivering with, 
agitation, and with a color which surprise and pleasure had brought 
at ouce into his faded cheek, he exchanged the humdrum hornpipe 
which he had been sawing out with reluctant and lazy bow, for the 
fine Scottish air, 

“ You’re welcome, Charlie Stuart,” 

which flew from his strings as it by inspiration, and, after a breath- 
less pause of admiration among the audience, was received with a 
clamor of applause, which seemed to show that the name and tend- 
ency, as well as the execution of the tune, was in the highest de- 
gree acceptable to all the party assembled. 

In the meantime, Cristal Nixon, still keeping hold of Darsie, and 
following the landord, forced his way with some difficulty through 
the crowded kitchen, and entered a small apartment on the other 
side of it, where they found Lilias Redgauntlet already sealed. Here 
Nixon gave way to his suppressed resentment, and turning sternly 
on Crackentliorp, threatened him wilh his master’s severest dis- 
pleasure, because things were in such bad order to receive his 
family, when he had given such special advice that he desired to be 
private. But Father Crackenthorp was not a man to be brow- 
beaten. 

“ Why, brother Nixon, thou art angry this morning,” he replied; 
“ hast risen from thy wrong side, I think. You know, as well as 
I, that most of this mob is of the squire’s own making — gentlemen 
that come with their servants, and so forth, to meet him in the way 
of business, as old Tom Turnpenny says — the very last that came 
was sent down with Dick Gardenei from Fairladies.” 

“ But the blind scraping scoundrel yonder,” said Nixon, “ how 
dared you take such a rascal as that across your threshold at such 
a lime as this? If the squire should dream you have a thought of 
peaching— 1 am only speaking for your good, Father Cracken- 
thorp.” 

“ Why, look ye, brother Nixon,” said Crackenthorp, turning hie 
quid with great composure, ” the squire is a very worthy gentle- 
man, and I’ll never deny it ; but 1 am neither his servant nor his 
tenant, and so he need send me none of his orders till he hears I 


288 


REDGAUNTLET. 


have put on his livery. As for turning away folk from my door, 1 
might as well plug up the ale-tap, and pull down the sign— and as 
tor peaching, and such like, the squire will find the folk here are 
as honest to the full as those he brings with him.” 

“ llow, you impudent lump of tallow,” Baid Nixon, “ what do 
you mean by that?” 

“ Nothing,” said Crackenthorp, “ but that I can tour out as well 
as another — you understand me— keep good lights in my upper 
story — know a thing or two more than most folk in this country, 
if folk will come to my house on dangerous errands, egad, they 
shall not find Joe Crackenthorp a cat’s paw. I’ll keep myself clear, 
you may depend on it, and let every man answer for his own ac- 
tions — that’s my way — anything wanted, Master Nixon?” 

“ No— yes — begone!” said Nixon, who seemed embarrassed with 
the landlord’s contumacy, yet desirous to conceal the effect it pro- 
duced on him. 

The door was no sooner closed on Crackenthorp than Miss Red- 
gauntlet, addressing Nixon, commanded him to leave the room and 
go to his proper place. 

“ How, madam?” said the fellow, sullenly, yet with an air of 
respect; “ would you have your uncle pistol me for disobeying his 
orders?” 

“ He may perhaps pistol you for some other reason if you do not 
obey mine,” said Lilias, composedly. 

“ "5c on abuse your advantage over me, madam — 1 really dare not 
go— 1 am on guard over this other Miss here, and it I should desert 
my post, my life were not worth five minutes’ purchase ” 

“Then know your post, sir,” said Lilias, “and watch on the 
outside of the door. You have no commission to listen to our 
private conversation, 1 suppose? Begone, sir, without further 
speech or remonstrance, or 1 will tell my uncle that which you 
would have reason to repent he should know.” 

The fellow looked at her with a singular expression of spite, 
mixed with deference. “ You abuse your advantages, madam,” 
he said, “ and act as foolishly in doing so as I did in affording you 
such a hank over me. But you are a tyrant; and tyrants have com- 
monly short reigns.” 

So saying he left the apartment. 

“ The wretch’s unparalleled insolence,” said Lilias to her brother, 
“ has given me one great advantage over him. For knowing that 
my uncle would shoot him with as little remorse as a woodcock, if 
he but guessed at his brazen-faced assurance toward me, he dari s 
not since that time assume, so far as I am concerned, the air of in- 
solent domination which the possession of my uncle’s secrets, and 
the knowledge of his most secret plans, have led him to exert over 
others of his family.” 

“ In the meantime,” said Darsie, “1 am happy to see that the 
landlord of the house does not seem so devoted to him as I appre- 
hended; and this aids the hope of escape which I am nourishing 
for you and tor myself. Oh, Lilias, the truest of friends, Alan 
Fairford, is in pursuit of me, and is here at this moment. Another 
humble, but, 1 think, faithful friend, is also within these dangerous 
walls.” 


KEDGAUXTLET. 


289 


Lilias laid her finger on her lips, and pointed to the door. Darsie 
took the hint, lowered his voice, and informed her in whispers of 
the arrival of Fairford, and that he believed he had opened a com- 
munication with Wandering Willie. She listened with the utmost 
interest, and had just begun to reply, when a loud noise was heard 
in the kitchen, caused by several contending voices, among which 
Darsie thought he could distinguish that of Alan Fairford. 

Forgetting how little his own condition permitted him to become 
the assistant ot another, Darsie flew to the door of -the room, and 
finding it locked and bolted on the outside, rushed against it with 
all his force, and made the most desperate efforts to burst it open, 
notwithstanding the entreaties of his sister that he would compose 
himself, and recollect the condition in which he was placed. But 
the door, framed to withstand attacks from excisemen, constables, 
•and other personages, considered as worthy to use what are called 
the King’s keys,* “ and therewith to make lockfast places open and 
patent,” set his efforts at defiance. Meantime the noise continued 
without, and we are to give an account of its origin in our next 
chapter. 


CHAPTER XX. 

NARRATIVE OF DARSIE LATIMER, CONTINUED. 

Joe Crackenttiorp’s public-house had never, since it first reared 
its chimneys on the banks of the Solway, been frequented by such 
a miscellaneous group of visitors as had that morning become its 
guests. Several of them were persons whose quality seemed much 
superior to their dresses and modes ot traveling. The servants who 
attended them contradicted the inferences to be drawn from the garb 
of their masters, and, according to the custom of the knights of the 
rainbow’, gave many hints that they were not people to serve any 
but men of first-rate consequence. These gentlemen, who had come 
thither chiefly for the purpose of meeting with Mr. Redgauntlet, 
seemed moody and anxious, conversed and walked together, ap- 
parently in deep conversation, and avoided any communication with 
the chance travelers whom accident brought that morning to the 
same place of resort. 

As if Fate had set herself to confound the plans ot the Jacobite 
conspirators, the number of travelers was unusually great, their ap- 
pearance respectable, and they filled the public tap-room ot the inn, 
w^here the political guests had already occupied most of the private 
apartments. 

Among others, honest Joshua Geddes had arrived, traveling, as 
he said, in the sorrow ot the soul, and mo aiming for the fate of 
Darsie Latimer as he would for his first-born child. He had skirled 
the whole coast of the Solway, besides making various trips into the 
interior, not shunning, on such occasions, to expose himself to the 
laugh of the scorner, nay, even to serious personal risk, by fre- 
quenting the haunts of smugglers, horse-jockeys, and other irregular 
persons, who looked on his intrusion with jealous eyes, and were apt 

* In common parlance, a crowbar and hatchet. 


10 


290 


REDGAUNTLET. 


to consider him as an exciseman in the disguise of a Quaker. All 
this labor and peril, however, had been undergone in vain. No 
search he could make obtained the least intelligence of Latimer, so 
that he began to fear the poor lad had been spirited abroad — for the 
practice of kidnapping was then not infrequent, especially on the 
western coasts of Britain — if indeed he had escaped a briefer and 
more bloody fate. 

With a heavy heart he delivered his horse, even Solomon, into 
the hands of the hostler, and walking into the inn, demanded from 
the landlord breakfast, and a private room. Quakers, and such 
hosts as old Father Cracken thorp, are no congenial spirits; the 
latter looked askew over his shoulder, and replied, “ If you would 
have breakfast here, friend, you are like to eat it where other folk 
eat theirs.” 

“ And wherefore can 1 not,” said the Quaker, *' have an apart^ 
ment to myself, for my money?” 

‘‘Because, Master Jonathan, you must wait till your betters be 
served, or else eat with your equals.” 

Joshua Geddes argued the point no further, but sitting quietly 
down on the seat which Crackenthorp indicated to him, and calling 
for a pint of ale, with some bread, butter, and Dutch cheese, began 
to satisfy the appetite which the morning air had rendered unusual- 
ly alert. 

While the honest Quaker was thus employed, another stranger 
entered the apartment, and sat down near to the table on which his 
- victuals were placed. He looked repeatedly at Jcshua, licked his 
parched and chopped lips as he saw the good Quaker masticate his 
bread and cheese, and sucked up his thin chops when Mr. Geddes 
applied the tankard to his mouth, as if the discharge of these bodily 
functions by another had awakened his sympathies in an uncon- 
trollable degree. At last, being apparently unable to withstand his 
longings, he asked, in a faltering tone, the huge landlord, who was 
tramping through the room in all corpulent impatience, “ whether 
he could have a plack pie?” 

‘‘Never heard of such a thing, master,” said the landlord, and 
was about to trudge onward; when the guest, detaining him, 3aid, 
in a strong Scottish tone, “ Ye will may be have nay whey then, 
nor buttermilk, nor ye couldna exhibit a souter’s clod?” 

‘‘ Can’t tell what ye are talking about, master,” said Ciacken- 
thorp. 

“ Then ye will have nae breakfast that will come within the com- 
pass of a shilling Scots?” 

‘‘ Which is a penny sterling,” answered Crackenthorp, with a 
sneer. “ Why, no, Sawney, 1 can’t say as we have— we can’t 
afford it; but you shall have a bellyful for love, as we say in the 
bull -ring.” 

“ I shall never refuse a fair offer,” said the poverty-stricken 
guest, “ and I will say that for the English, if they were deils, that 
they are a ceeveleesed people to gentlemen that are under a cloud.” 

“Gentlemen! — humph!” said Crackenthorp — “not a blue-cap 
among them but halts upon that foot.” Then seizing on a dish 
which still contained a huge cantle of what had been once a prince- 
ly mutton pasty, he placed it. on the table before the stranger, say- 


REDGAUNTLET. 291 

Ing, “ There, master gentleman; there is what is worth all the black 
pies, as you call them, that were ever made of sheep’s head.” 

“ Sheep’s head is a gude thing, tor a’ that,” replied the guest; but 
not being spoken so loud as to offend his hospitable entertainer, the 
interjection might pass for a private protest against the scandal 
thrown out against the standing disli of Caledonia. 

This premised, lie immediately began to transfer the mutton and 
pie-ciust from his plate to his lips, in such huge gobbets, as it he 
was refreshing after a three days’ fast, and laying in provisions 
against a whole Lent to come. 

Joshua Geddes in his turn gazed on him with surprise, having 
never, he thought, beheld such a gaunt expression of hunger in the 
act of eating. 

“Friend,” he said, after watching him for some minutes, “it 
thou gorgest thyself in this fashion thou wilt assuredly choke. 
Will thou not take a draught out of my cup to help down all that 
dry meai?” 

“ Troth,” said the stranger, stopping and looking at the friendly 
propounder, “ that’s nae bad overture, as they say in the General As- 
sembly. 1 have heard waur motions than that frae wiser counsel.” 

Mr. Geddes ordered a quart of home-brewed to be placed before 
our friend Peter Peebles; for the reader must have already con- 
ceived that this unfortunate litigant was the wanderer in question. 

The victim of Themis had no sooner seen the flagon than he 
seized it with the same energy which he had displayed in operating 
upon the pie— puffed off the froth with such emphasis that some of 
it lighted on Mr. Geddes’s head — and then said, as if with a sudden 
recollection of what was due to civility, “ Here’s to ye, friend. What ! 
are ye ower grand to give me an answer, or are ye dull o’ hear- 
ing?” 

“1 prithee drink thy liquor, friend,” said the good Quaker; 
“thou meanest it in civility, but we care not for these idle fash- 
ions.” 

“What! ye are a Quaker, are ye?” said Peter; and without fur- 
ther ceremony reared the flagon to his head, from which he with - 
drew it not while a single drop of “ barley-broo” remained. “ That’s 
done you and me muckle good,” he said, sighing as he set down his 
pot; “ but twa mutchkins o’ yill between twa folk is a drappie ower 
little measure. What say ye to anither pot? or shall w^e cry in a 
blithe Scots pint at ance? The yill is no amiss.” 

“ Thou mayst call for what thou wilt on thine own charges, 
friend,” said Geddes; “for myself, I willingly contribute to the 
quenching of thy natural thirst; but 1 fear it w T ere no such easy 
matter to relieve thy acquired and artificial drought.” 

“ That is to say, in plain terms, ye are for withdrawing your 
caulion with the folk of the house? You Quaker folk are butfause 
comforters; but since ye have garred me drink sae muckle cauld 
yill— me that am no used to the like of it in the forenoon— I think 
ye might as weel have offered me a glass of brandy or usquabae— 
I’m nae nice body— 1 can drink onything that’s wet and tooth- 
some.” 

“ Not a drop at my cost, fiiend,” quoth Geddes. “ Thou art an 
•old man, and hast perchance a heavy and long journey before thee. 


292 


REDGAUNTLET. 


Thou art, moreover, my countryman, as 1 judge from thy tongue; 
and 1 will not give thee the means of dishonoring thy gray hairs in 
a strange land.” 

“ Gray hairs, neighbor!” said Peter, with a wink to the bystand- 
ers, whom this dialogue began to interest, and who were in hopes 
of seeing the Quaker played oif by the crazed beggar, for such Peter 
Peebles appeared to be. “ Gray hairs! The Lord mend your eye- 
sight, neighbor, that disna ken gray hairs frae a tow wig!” 

This jest procured a shout of laughter, and, what was still more 
acceptable than dry applause, a man who sood beside called out, 
“ Father Crackenthorp, bring a nipperkin of brandy. I’ll bestow a 
dram on this fellow, were it but for that very word.” 

The brandy was immediately brought by a wench who acted as 
bar-maid; and Peter, with a grin of delight, filled a glass, quafled it 
off, and then saying, “ God bless me! 1 was so unmannerly as not 
to drink to ye — I think the Quaker has smitten me wi’ his ill-bred 
havings ” — he was about to fill another, when his hand was arrested 
by his new friend; who said at the same time, “ No, no, friend — 
fair play’s a jewel— time about, if you please.” And filling a glass 
for himself, emptied it as gallantly as Peter could have done. 
‘‘What say you to that, friend?” he continued, addressing the 
Quaker. 

“ Nay, friend,” answered Joshua, “ it went down thy throat, not 
mine; and 1 have nothing to say about what concerns me not; but 
it thou art a man of humanity, thou wilt not give this poor creature 
the means of debauchery. Bethink thee that they will spurn him 
from the door, as they would do a houseless and master less dog, 
and that he may die on the sands or on the common. And if he has 
through thy means been rendered incapable of helping himself, 
thou shalt not be innocent of his blood.” 

“ Faith, Broadbrim, 1 believe thou art right, and the old gentle- 
man in the flaxen jazy shall have no more of the comforter — be- 
sides, we have business on hand to-day, and this fellow, for as marl 
as he looks, may have a nose on his face aftei all. Hark ye, father 
—what is your name, and what brings you into such an out-of-the- 
way corner?” 

”1 am not just free to condescend on my name,” said Peter; 
“ and as for my business— there is a wee dribble of brandy in the 
stoup— it would be wrang to leave it to the lass— it is learning her 
bad usages.” 

“ Well, thou shalt have the brandy, and be d— d to thee, if thou 
wilt tell me what you are making here.” 

“Seeking a young advocate chap that they ca’ Alan Fairford, 
that has played me a slippery trick, an ye maun ken a’ about the 
cause,” said Peter. 

“ An advocate, man!” answered the captain of the “ Jumping 
Jenny ’’—for it was he, and no other, who had taken compassion on 
Peter’s drought; “ why, Lord help thee, thou ait on the wrong side 
of the Firth to see advocates, whom 1 take to be Scottish lawyers, 
not English.” 

“English lawyers, man!” exclaimed Pete; “the deil a lawyei’e 
in a’ England!” 


ItEDG A UNTLET. 293 

“ I wish from my soul it were true,” said Ewart, “ but what the 
devil put that in your head?” 

“ Lord, man, 1 got a grip of ane of their attorneys in Carlisle, 
and he tauld me that there wasna a lawyer in England ony mair 
than himsell that kend thenatureof a multiplepoindmg! And when 
1 told him how this loopy lad, Alan Fairtord, had served me, he 
said I might bring an action on the case — just as if the case badua 
as mony actions already as one can weel carry. But my word, it 
is a gude case, anti muckle has it borne, in its day, of various pro- 
cedure — but it’s the barley-pickle breaks the naig’s back, and wi' 
my consent it shall not hae orty mair burden laid upon it.” 

“ But this Alan Fairtord?” saidNanty— “ come- sip up the drop 
of brandy, man, and tell me some more about him, and whether you 
are seeking nim for good or for harm.” 

“ For my ane gude, and for his harm, to be sure,” said Peter. 
“ Think ot his having left my cause in the dead-thiaw between the 
tyneing and the winning, and capering off into Cumberland here 
after a wild loup-tbe-tether lad they ca’ Darsie Latimer!” 

” Darsie Latimer!” said Mr. Geddes hastily; “ do you know any- 
thing of Darsie Latimer?” 

“ Maybe 1 do, and maybe 1 do not,” answered Peter; “ I am no 
free to answer everybody’s interrogatory, unless it is put judicially, 
and by form ot law — specially where folk think so much of a caup 
ot sour yill, or a thimblefu’ of brandy. But as for this gentleman, 
that has shown himself a gentleman at breakfast, and will show 
himself a gentleman at the meridian, 1 am treed to condescend 
upon any points in the cause that may appear to bear upon the ques- 
tion at issue.” 

“ Why, all 1 want to know from you, my friend, is, whether you 
are seeking to do this Mr. Alan Fairford good or harm; because if 
you come to do him good, I think you could may be get speecli of 
him— and if to do him harm, 1 will take the liberty to give you a 
cast across the Firth, with fair warning not to come back on such an 
errand, lest worse come of it.” 

The manner and language of Ewart were such that Joshua Geddes 
resolved to keep cautious silence till he could more plainly discover 
whether he was likely to aid or impede him in his researches after 
Darsie Latimer. He therefore determined to listen attentively to 
what should pass between Peter and the seaman, and to watch for 
an opportunity ot question ng the former so soon as he should be 
separated from his new acquaintance. 

“ I wad by no means,” said Peter Peebles, 44 do any substantial 
harm to the poor lad Fairford, who has had mony a gowd guinea 
of mine, as weel as his father before him ; but I wad hae him brought 
back to the minding of my business and his am ; and may .be 1 wadna 
insist further in my action of damages against him, than for refund- 
ing the fees, and for some annual rent on the principal sum, due 
frae the day on which he should have recovered it for me, plack and 
bawbee, aftbe great advising; for ye are aware that is the least that 
1 can ask nomine damni ; and 1 have nae thought to break down the 
lad bodily a’thegither— we maun live and let live— forgie and for- 
get.” 

“The deuce take me, Friend Broadbrim,” said Nanty Ewart„ 


394 


BEDGAUNTLET. 


looking to the Quaker, “ if 1 can make out what this old scarecrow 
means. If I thought it was fitting that Master Fairford should see 
him, why, perhaps it is a matter that could be managed. Do you 
know anything about the old fellow? you seemed to take some 
^charge of him just now.” 

“ No more than 1 should have done by any one in distress,” said 
Oeddes, not sorry to be appealed to; “ but 1 will try what 1 can do 
to find out who he is, and what he is about in this country. But 
are we not a little too public in this open room?” 

“ It’s well thought of,” said Nanty; and at his command the bar* 
maid ushered the party into a side-booth, Peter attending them in 
the instinctive hope that there would be more liquor drunk 
among them before parting. They had scarce sat down in their 
new apartment when the sound of a violin was heard in the room 
which they had just left. 

“ I'll awa back yonder," said Peter lising up again; “ yon’s the 
sound ot a fiddle, and when there is music there’s aye something 
ganging to eat or dunk.” 

”1 am just going to order something here,” said the Quaker; 
4 ‘ but in the meantime, have you any objection, my good friend, to 
tell us your name?” 

“ None in the world, if you are wanting to drink to me by name 
and surname,” answered Peebles; “ but otherwise, 1 would rather 
evite your interrogatories.” 

“ Friend,” said the Quaker, “ it is not for thine own health, see- 
ing thou hast drunk enough already — however— Here, handmaiden, 
bring me a gill of sherry.” 

“ Sherry’s but a shilpit drink, and a gill’s a sma’ measure for 
twa gentlemen to crack ower at their first acquaintance. But let us 
see your sneaking gill of sherry,” said Poor Peter, thrusting forth 
his huge hand to seize on the diminutive pewter measure, which, 
according to the fashion of the time, contained the generous liquor 
freshly drawn from the butt. 

“Nay, howld, friend,” said doshua; ‘‘thou hast not yet told what 
name and surname 1 am to call thee by.” 

‘‘ D — dsly in the Quaker,” said Nanty apart, ” to make him pay 
tor his liquor before he gives it to him. Now, 1 am such a fool that 
1 should have let him get too drunk to open his mouth before 1 
thought of asking him a question.” 

“ My name is Peter Peebles, then,” said the litigant, rather sulk- 
ily, as one who thought his liquor too sparingly meted out to him; 
“‘ and what have you to say to that?” 

“ Peter Peebles!” repeated Nanty Ewart, and seemed to muse 
upon something which the words brought to his remembrance, 
•while the Quaker pursued his examination. 

“ But 1 prithee, Peter Peebles, what is thy further designation? 
Thou knowest, in oui country, that some men are distinguished by 
their craft and calling, as cordw T ainers, fishers, weavers, or the like, 
and some by their titles, as proprietors of land (wdiich savors of 
vanity). Now, how may you be distinguished from others ot the 
same name?” 

“ As Peter Peebles of the great plea of Poor Peter Peebles against 


REDGAUNTLET. 


29 $ 


Plainstanes, et per contra— if 1 am laird of naething else, I am a 

dominus litis.” 

“ It’s but a poor laiidship, 1 doubt,” said Joshua. 

“ Pray, Mr. Peebles,” said Nanty, interrupting the conversation 
abruptly, “ were not you once a burgess of Edinburgh?” 

Was 1 a burgess?” said Petei indignantly, “ and am 1 not a 
burgess even now? 1 have done nothing to forfeit my right, 1 trow 
— once Provost, and aye my lord.” 

“ Well, Mr. Burgess, tell me further, have you not some property 
in the Gude Town?” continued Ewart. 

“ Troth have 1 — that is, before my misfortunes 1 had twa or three 
bonny bits of mailings amaog the closes and wynds, forby the shop 
and the story abune it. But Plainstanes has put me to the cause- 
way now. Never mind, though, 1 will be upsides with him yet.” 

“ Had not you once a tenement in the Covenant'Close?” again 
demanded Nanty. 

“ Ton have hit it, lad, though ye look not like a Covenanter,”’ 
said Peter; “ we’ll drink to its memory— (Houtl— the heart’s at the 
mouth o’ that ill-faur’d bit stoup already!) — it brought a rent, reck- 
oning from the crawstep to the ground-sill, that ye might ca’ four- 
teen punds a-year, forby the laigh cellar that was let to Lucky Lit- 
tleworth.” 

“ And do you not remember that you had a poor old lady for 
your tenant, Mrs. Cantrips of Kittlebasket?” said Nanty, suppress- 
ing his emotion with difficulty. 

“ Remember! G — d, 1 have gude cause to remember her,” said 
Peter, “ for she turned a dyvour on my hands, the auld besom ! and, 
after a’ that the law could do to make me salisfied and paid, in the 
way of poinding and distrenzieing, and sae forth, as the law will, 
she ran awa to the Charity Workhouse, a matter of twenty pund& 
Scots in my debt — it’s a great shame and oppression that Charity 
Workhouse, taking in bankrupt dyvours that cannapay their honest 
creditors.” 

“ Methinks, friend,” said the Quaker, ‘‘thine own rags might 
teach thee compassion for other people’s nakedness.” 

“ Rags!” said Peter, taking Joshua’s words literally; “ does ony 
wise body put on their best coat when they are traveling, and keep- 
ing company with Quakers, and such other cattle as the road 
affords?” 

‘‘The old lady died, 1 have heard,” said Nanty, affecting a 
moderation which was belied by accents that taltered with passion. 

“ She might live or die, for what I care,” answered Peter the 
Cruel; ‘‘ what business have folk to do to live, that canna live as law 
will, and satisfy their just and lawful creditors?” 

“ And you — you that are now yourself trodden down in the very 
kennel, are you sorry for what you have done? Do you not repent 
having occasioned the poor widow woman’s death?” 

“ What for should 1 repent?” said Peter; ” the law was on my 
side— a decreet of the bailies, followed by poinding, and an act of 
warding— a suspension iutended, and the letters found orderly pro- 
ceeded. 1 followed the auld rudas through twa courts— she cost 
me mair money than her lugs were worth.” 

“Now, by Heaven!” said Nanty, “1 would give a thousand 


29 6 


REDGAUNTLET. 


guineas, if 1 had them, to have you woith my beating! Had you said 
you repented, it had been between God and your conscience; but to 
hear you boast of your villainy. Do you think it little to have re- 
duced the aged to famine, and the young to infamy — to have caused 
the death of one woman, the ruin ot another, and to have driven a 
man to exile and despair? By him that made me, 1 can scarce 
keep hands off you!” 

“ Off me? 1 defy ye!” said Peter. “ 1 take this honest man to 
witness, that it ye stir the neck of my collar, 1 will have my action 
for stouthreif, spulzie, oppression, assault and battery. Here’s a 
braw din, indeed, about an auld wife gaun to the grave, a young 
limmer to the close-heads and causeway, and a sticket stibbler* to 
the sea instead of the gallows?” 

“ Now, by my soul,” said Nanty, “ this is too much! and since 
you can feel no otherwise, 1 will try if I can not beat some humanity 
into your head and shoulders.” 

He drew his hanger as he spoke, and although Joshua, who had 
in vain endeavored to interrupt the dialogue, to which he foresaw 
a violent termination, now threw himself between Nanty and the 
old litigant, he could not prevent the latter from receiving two or 
three sound slaps over the shoulder with the flat side of the weapon. 

Poor Peter Peebles, as inglorious in his extremity as he had been 
presumptuous in bringing it on, now ran and roared, and bolted 
out of the apartment and house itself, as pursued by Nanty, whose 
passion became high in proportion to his giving way to its dictates, 
and by Joshua, who still interfered at every risk, calling upon Nanty 
to reflect Dn the age and miserable circumstances of the otlender, 
and upon Poor Peter to stand and place himself under his protec- 
tion. In front of the house, however, Peter Peebles found a more 
efficient protector than the worthy Quaker. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD. 

Our readers may recollect that Pair ford had been conducted by 
Dick Gardener from the house ot Fairladies, to the inn ot old Father 
Crackenthorp, in order, as he had been informed by the mysterious 
Father Buona venture, that lie might have the meeting which he 
desired with Mr. Redgauntiet, to treat with him for the liberty of 
his friend Darsie. His guide, by the special direction of Mr. Am- 
brose, had introduced him into the public-house by a back door, 
and recommended to the landlord to accommodate him with a 
private apartment, and to treat him with all civility; but in oilier 
respects to keep his eye on him, and even to secure liis person, if he 
saw any reason to suspect him to be a spy. He was not, however, 
subjected to any direct restraint, but was ushered into an apartment, 
where lie was requested to await the arrival of the gentleman with 
whom he wished to have an interview, and who, as Crackenthorp 

* A student of divinity who has not been able to complete his studies on 
theology. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


297 


assured him. with a significant nod, would be certainly there in the 
course of an hour. In the meanwhile, he recommended to him, 
with another significant sign, to keep his apartment, “ as there were 
people in the house who were apt to busy themselves about other 
folk’s matters.” 

Alan Fairtord complied with the recommendation so long as he 
thought it reasonable; but, when, among a large party riding up to 
the house, he discerned Redgauntlet, whom he had seen under the 
name of Mr. Berries of Birrenswork, and whom by his height and 
stiength, he easily distinguished from the rest, he thought it proper 
to go down to the front of the house, in hopes that, by more closely 
reconnoitering the party, he might discover if his friend Darsie was 
among them. 

The reader is aware that by doing so he had an opportunity of 
breaking Darsie’s fall from his side-saddle, although his disguise 
and mask prevented his recognizing his friend. It may be also recol- 
lected that while Nixon hurried Miss Redgauntlet and her brother 
into the house, their uncle, somewhat chafed at an unexpected and 
inconvenient interruption, remained himself in parley with Fairford, 
who had already successively addressed him by the names of Herries 
and Redgauntlet ; neither of which any more than the acquaintance 
of the young lawyer, he seemed at the moment willing to acknowl- 
edge, though an air of haughty indifference, which he assumed, 
could not conceal his vexation and embarrassment. 

” If we must needs be acquainted, sir,” he said at last — “ for 
which 1 am unable to see any necessity, especially as I am now par- 
ticularly disposed to be private -I must entreat you will tell me at 
once wfiat you have to say, and permit me to attend to matters of 
more importance.” 

“ My introduction,” said Fairford, ‘‘ is contained in this letter." 
(Delivering that of Maxwell.) “ I am convinced that, under what- 
ever name it may be your pleasure for the present to be known, it 
is info your hands, and yours only, that it should be delivered.” 

Kedgauntlet turned the letter in his hand — then read the contents 
— then again looked upon the letter and sternly observed, “ The 
geal of the letter has been broken. Was this the case, sir, when it 
was delivered into your hand?” 

Fairford despised a falsehood as much as any man— unless, per- 
baps, as Tom Turnpenny might have said, “ in the way of busi- 
ness.” Be answered readily and firmly, “ The seal was whole when 
the letter was delivered to me by Mr. Maxwell, of Summertrees.” 

“ And did you dare, sir, to break the seal of a letter addressed to 
me?” said Redgauntlet, not sorry, perhaps, to pick a quarrel upon 
a point foreign to the tenor of the epistle. 

”1 have never broken the seal of any letter committed to my 
charge,” said Alan; “ not from fear of those to whom such letter 
might be addressed, but from respect to myself.” 

“ That is welt worded,” said Redgauntlet; and yet, young Mr. 
Counselor, I doubt whether your delicacy prevented your reading 
my letter, or listening to the contents as read by some other person 
after it was opened.” 

“I certainly did hear the contents read over,” said Fairford; 
** and they were such as to surprise me a good deal.” 


2 98 


REDGAUNTLET. 


“Now that," said Redgauntlet, “ 1 hold to be pretty much the 
same, m foro conscientice, as it you had broken the seal yourself. 1 
shall hold myself excused from entering upon further discourse 
with a messenger so faithless; and you may thank yourself if your 
journey has been fruitless.” 

“ Stay, sir,” said Fairford; “ and know that 1 became acquainted 
with the contents of the paper without my consent— 1 may even say 
against my will; for Mr. Buonaventure — ” 

“ Who?” demanded Redgauntlet, in a wild and alarmed manner. 
44 Whom was it you named?” 

“ Father Buonaventure,” said Alan, “ a Catholic priest, as I ap- 
prehend, whom 1 saw at the Misses Artliuret’s house, called Fair- 
ladies.” 

“Misses Arthurer! — Fairladies! — A Catholic priest! — Fattier 
Buonaventure!” said Redgauntlet, repeating the words of Alan with 
astonishment. “ Is it possible that human rashness can reach such 
a point of infatuation? Tell me the truth, 1 conjure you, sir — 1 
have the deepest interest to know whether this is more than an idle 
legend, picked up from hearsay, about the country. You are a law- 
yer, and know the risk incurred by the Catholic clergy whom the 
discharge of their duty sends to these bloody shores.” 

“ 1 am a lawyer, certainly,” said Fairford; “but my holding 
such a respectable condition in life warrants that 1 am neither an 
informer nor a spy. Here is sufficient evidence that 1 have seen 
Father Buonaventure.” 

He put Buonaventure’s letter in Redgauntlet’s hand, and watched 
his looks closely while he read it. “Double-dyed infatuation!” he 
muttered, with looks in which sorrow, displeasure, and anxiety were 
mingled. “ ‘ Save me from the indiscretion of my friends,’ says the 
Spaniard; * I can save myself from the hostility of my enemies.’ ” 

He then read the letter attentively, and for two or three minutes 
was lost in thought, while some purpose of importance seemed to 
have gathered and sat brooding upon his countenance. He field up 
his finger toward his satellite, Cristal Nixon, who replied to his 
signal with a prompt nod; and with one or two of the attendants 
approached Fairford in such a manner as to make him apprehensive 
they were about to lay hold of him. 

At this moment a noise was heard from withinside of the house, 
and presently rushed forth Peter Peebles, pursued by Nanty Ewart 
with his drawn hanger, and the worthy Quaker, who was endeavor- 
ing to prevent mischief to others, at some risk of bringing it on 
himself. 

A wilder and yet a more absurd figure can hardly be imagined, 
than that of Poor Peter clattering along as fast as his huge boots 
would permit him, and resembling nothing so much as a flying' 
scarecrow; while the thin emaciated form of Nanty Ewart, with 
the hue of death on his cheek, and tlie fire of vengeance glancing 
from his eye, formed a ghastly contrast with the ridiculous object 
of his pursuit. 

Redgauntlet threw himself between them. “ What extravagant 
folly is this?” lie said. “ Put up your weapon, captain. Is this a 
time to indulge in drunken brawls, or is such a miserable object as 
that a fitting antagonist for a man of courage?” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


299 

“ 1 beg pardon,” said the captain, sheathing his weapon — 1 was 
a little hit out of the way, to he sure; but to Know the provocation, 
a man must read my heart, and that I hardly dare to do myself. 
But the wretch is safe from me. Heaven has done its own vengeance 
on us both.” 

While lie spoke in this manner, Peter Peebles, who had at. first 
crept behind Redgauntlet in bodily fear, began now to reassume his 
spirits. Pulling his protector by the sleeve, “ Mr. Herries— Mr. 
Herries,” he whispered eagerly, “ye have done me mair than ae 
gude turn, and if ye will but do me anither at this dead pinch, I'll 
forgive the girded keg of brandy that you and Captain Sir Harry 
Redgimlet drunk out yon time. Ye sail hae an ample discharge 
and renunciation, and, though 1 should see you walking at the Cross 
of Edinburgh, or standing at the bar of the Court of Justiciary, no 
the very thumbikinS themselves should bring to my memory that 
ever 1 saw you in arms yon day.” 

He accompanied this promise by pulling so hard at Redgauntlet’s 
cloak, that he at last turned round. ” Idiot! speak in a word what 
you want.” 

“ Aweel, aweel. In a word, then,” said Peter Peebles, “ 1 have 
a warrant on me to apprehend that man that stands there, Alan 
Pairford by name, and advocate by calling. I bought it from 
JVlaister Justice Foxley’s clerk, Maisler Nicholas Faggot, wi’ the 
guinea that you gird me.” 

” Ha!” said Redgauntlet, “ hast thou really such a warrant? let 
me see it. Look sharp that no one escape, Crislal Nixon.” 

Peter produced a huge, greasy, leathern pocket-book, too dirty . to 
permit its original color to be visible, filled with scrolls of notes, 
memorials to counsel, and Heaven knows what besides. From 
amongst this precious mass he culled forth a paper, and placed it 
in the hands of Redgauntlet, or Herries, as he continued to call him, 
saying, at the same time, “ It’s a formal and binding warrant, pro- 
ceeding on my affidavy made, that the said Alan Fairford, being 
lawfully engaged in my service, had slipped the tether and fled over 
the Border, and was now lurking there and thereabouts, to elude 
and evite the discharge of his bounden duty to me, and therefore 
granting warrant to constables and others, to seek for, take, and 
apprehend him, that he may be brought before the Honorable Jus- 
tice Foxley for examination, and it necessary, for commitment. 
Now, though a’ this be fairly set down, as 1 tell ye, yet wliere am 
1 to get an officer to execute this warrant in sic a country as this, 
where sw^ords and pistols flee out at a word’s speaking, ana folk 
care as little for the peace of King George, as the peace of Auld 
King Coul? There’s that drunken skipper, and that wet Quaker, 
enticed me into the public this morning, and because I wadna gie 
them as much brandy as wad have made them blind-drutik, they 
baith fell on me, and were in the way of guiding me very ill.” 

While Peter went on in this manner, Redgauntlet glanced his eye 
over the warrant, and im rnediatety saw that it must be a trick passed 
by Nicholas Faggot to cheat the poor insane wretch out of his soli- 
tary guinea. But the justice had actually subscribed it, as he did 
whatever his clerk presented to him, and Redgauntlet resolved to 
use it for his own purposes. 


EEDGAUNTLET. 


£00 

Without making any direct answer, therefore, to Peter Peebles, 
he walked up gravely to Fair ford, who had waited quietly tor the 
termination of a scene in which he was not a little surprised to find 
liis client, Mr. Peebles, a conspicuous actor. 

” Mr. Fairford,” said Redgauntlet, “ there are many reasons which 
might induce me to comply with the request, or Hither the injunc- 
tions, ol the excellent Father Buonaventure, that I should communi- 
cate with you upon the present condition of my waid, whom you 
know under the name of Darsie Latimer; but no man is better aware 
than you that the law must be obeyed, eveu in contradiction to our 
own feelings; now this poor man has obtained a warrant. lor carry- 
ing you before a magistrate, and, I am afraid, there is a necessity 
of your yielding to it, although to the postponement of the business 
which you may have with me.” 

“A warrant against me!” said Alan, indignantly; “ and at that 
poor miserable wretch’s instance?— why, this is a trick, a mere and 
most palpable trick.” 

“It maybe so.” replied Redgauntlet, with great equanimity; 
41 doubtless you know best; only the writ appears regular, and with 
that respect for the law wdiich has been,” he said, with hypocritical 
formality, ” a leading feature of my character through life, 1 can 
not dispense with giving my poor aid to the support of a legal war- 
rant. Look at it yourself, and be satisfied it is no trick of mine.” 

Fairford ran over the affidavit and the warrant, and then ex- 
claimed once more, that it was an impudent imposition, and that he 
would hold those who acted upon such a warrant liable in the 
highest damages. ” 1 guess at your motive, Mr. Redgauntlet,” he 
said, ‘‘ for acquiescing in so ridiculous a proceeding. But be as- 
sured you will find that, in this country, one act of illegal violence 
will not be covered or atoned for by practicing another. You can 
not, as a man of sense and honor, pretend to say you regard this as 
a legal warrant.” 

“ 1 am no lawyer, sir,” said Redgauntlet; ** and pietend not to 
know what is or is not law — the warrant is quite formal, and that 
is enough tor me.” 

“ Did ever any one hear,” said Fairford, ‘‘of an advocate being 
compelled to return to his task, like a collier or a salter* who has 
deserted his master?” 

‘‘1 see no reason why he should not,” said Redgauntlet, dryly, 
” unless on the ground that the services of the lawyer are the most 
expensive and least useful of the two.” 

“ You can not mean this in earnest,” said Fairford; “ you can 
not really mean to avail yourself of so poor a contrivance, to evade 

* The persons engaged in these occupations were at this time bondsmen; and 
in case they left the ground of the farm to whighthey belonged, and as pertain- 

ing to which their services were bought or sold, they were liable to be brought 
back by a summary process. The existence of this species of slavery being 
thought irreconcilable with the spirit of liberty, colliers and salters were de- 
clared free, and put upon the same footing with other servants, bv the Act 15, 
Geo. III., chapter 28th. They were so far from desiring or prizing the blessing 
conferred on them, that they esteemed the interest taken in their freedom to be ' 
a mere decree on the part of the proprietors to get rid of what they called head 
and harigald money, payable to them when a female of their number, by bear- 
ing a child, made an addition to the live stock of their master’s property. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


301 


the word pledged by your friend, your ghostly father, in my behalf. 
1 may have been a fool for trusting it too easily, but think what 
you must be if you can abase my confidence in this manner. 1 en- 
treat you to reflect that this usage releases me from all promises of 
secrecy or connivance at what 1 am apt to think are very dangerous 
practices, and that — ” 

“ Hark ye, Mr. Fairford,” said Redgauntlet; “ 1 must here inter- 
rupt you for your own sake. One word of betraying what you may 
have seen, or what you may have suspected, and your seclusion is 
like to have either a very distant or a very brief termination; in 
either case a most undesirable one. At present, you are sure of be- 
ing at liberty in a very few days— perhaps much sooner.” 

‘* And my friend,” said Alan Fairford, “ for whose sake 1 have 
run myself into this danger, what is to become of him? Dark and 
dangerous man!” he exclaimed, raising his voice, ‘‘ 1 will not be 
again cajoled by deceitful promises — ” 

“ 1 give you my honor that your friend is well,” interrupted Red- 
gauntlet; “perhaps 1 may permit you to see him, if you will but 
submit with patience 1o a fate which is inevitable.” 

But Alan Fairford, considering his confidence as having been 
abused, first by Maxwell, and next by the priest, raised his voice, 
and appealed to all the king’s lieges within hearing, against the 
violence with which he was threatened. He was instantly seized 
upon by Nixon and two assistants, who, holding down his arms, 
and endeavoring to stop his mouth, were about to hurry him away. 

The honest Quaker, who had kept out of Redgauntlet’s presence, 
now came boldly forward. 

‘‘Friend,” said he, ‘‘thou dost more than thou canst answer. 
Thou knowest me well, and thou art aware, that in me thou hast a 
deeply injured neighbor who was dwelling beside thee in the 
honesty and simplicity of his heart.” 

44 Tush, Jonathan,” said Redgauntlet; *‘ talk not to me, man; it 
i& neither the craft of a young lawyer, nor the simplicity of an old 
hypocrite, can drive me from my purpose.” 

“ By my faith,” said the captain, coming forward in his turn, 
“ this is hardly fair, general; and 1 doubt,” he added, ‘‘ whether the 
will of my owners can make me a perty to such proceedings. May, 
never fumble with your sword-hilt, but out with it like a man, if 
you are for a tilting.” He unsheathed his hanger and continued— 
“ Iwill neither see my comrade Fairford nor the old Quaker abused. 
D— n all warrants, false or true— curse the justice— confound the 
constable!— and here stands little Nanty Ewart, to make good wdiat 
he says against gentle and simple, in spite of horseshoe or horse- 
radish either.” 

The cry of ” Down with all warrants!” was popular in the ears 
of the militia of the inn, and Nanty Ewart w T as no less so. Fishery 
hostlers, seamen, smugglers, began to crowd to the spot. Ciacken- 
thorp endeavored in vain to mediate. The attendants of Redgaunt- 
let began to handle their fire arms; but their master shouted to them 
to forbear, and unsheathing his sword as quick as lightning, lie 
rushed on Ewart in the midst of his bravade, and struck his weapon 
from nis hand with such address and force, that it flew three yards 
from him. Closing with, him at the samq^noment, he gave him a 


302 REDGAUNTLET. 

severe fall, and waved his sword over his head, to show he was ab- 
solutely at his mercy. 

“ There, you drunken vagabond,” he said, ” L give you your life 
— you are no bad fellow, if you could keep from brawling among 
your friends. But we all know Nanty Ewart,” he said to the 
crowd around, with a forgiving laugh, which, joined to the awe 
his prowess had inspired, entirely confirmed their wavering allegi- 
ance. 

They shouted, ‘‘The laird forever!” while poor Nanty, rising 
from the earth, on whose lap he had been stretched so rudely, went 
in quest of his hanger, lifted it, wiped it, and, as he returned the 
weapon to the scabbard, muttered between his teeth, “It i3 true 
they say of him, and the devil will stand his friend till his hour 
come; 1 will cross him no more.” 

So saying, he slunk from the crowd, cowed and disheartened by 
his defeat. 

“ For you, Joshua Geddes,” said Redgauntlet, approaching the 
Quaser, who, with lifted hands and eyes, had beheld the scene of 
violence, “ 1 shall take the liberty to arrest thee for a breach of the 
peace altogether unbecoming thy pretended principles; and I be- 
lieve it will go hard with thee both in a Court of Justice and among 
thine own Society of Friends, as they call themselves, who will be 
but indifferently pleased to see the quiet tenor of their hypocrisy 
insulted by such violent proceeding.” 

“ 1 violent!’ said Joshua; “ 1 do aught unbecoming the principles 
of the Friends! 1 defy thee, man, and 1 charge thee, as a Christian, 
to forbear vexing my soul with such charges; it is grievous enough 
to me to have seen violence which I was unable to prevent.” 

‘‘ O Joshua, Joshua!” said Redgauntlet, with a sardonic smile; 
*' thou light of the faithful in the tosvn of Dumfries and the places 
adjacent, wilt thou thus fall away from the truth? Hast thou not, 
before us all, attempted to rescue a man from the warrant of law? 
Didst thou not encourage that drunken fellow to draw his weapon 
— and didst thou not thyself flourish thy cudgel in the cause? 
Think’st thou that the oaths of the injured Peter Peebles, and the 
conscientious Cristal Nixon, besides those of such gentlemen as look 
on this strange scene, who not only put on swearing as a garment, 
but to whom, in Custom house matters, oaths are li rerally meat and 
drink— dost thou not think, I say, that these men’s oaths will go 
further than thy Yea and Nay in this matter?” 

‘‘1 will swear to anything,” said Peter. “All is fair when it 
comes to an oath ad Litem. 

” You do me foul wrong,” said the Quaker, undismayed by the 
general laugh. “ 1 encouraged no drawing of weapons, though 1 
attempted to move an unjust man by some use of argument— I 
brandished no cudgel, although it may be that the ancient Adam 
struggled within me, and caused my hand to grasp mine oaken staff 
firmer than usual, when I saw innocence borne down with violence. 
But why talk 1 what is true and just to thee, who hast been a man 
of violence from thy youth upward? Let me rather speak to thee 
such language as thou canst comprehend. Deliver these young men 
up to me,” he said when he had led Redgauntlet a little apart from 
the crowd, “ and 1 will not only free thee from the heavy charge of 


KEDGATOTLET. 


303 

damages which thou hast incurred by thine outrage upon my prop- 
erty, but I will add ransom for them aud for myself. What would 
it profit thee to do the youths wrong, by detaining them in captiv- 
ity?” 

“ Mr. Geddes,” said Redgauntlet, in a tone more respectful than 
he had hitherto used to the Quaker, “ your language is disinterest- 
ed, and 1 respect the fidelity of your friendship. Perhaps we have 
mistaken each other’s principles and motives; but if so, we have 
not at present time for explanation. Make yourself easy. I hope 
to raise your friend Darsie Latimer to a pitch of eminence which 
you will witness with pleasure;-— nay, do not attempt to answer me. 
The other young man shall suffer restraint a few days, probably 
only a few hours — it is not more than due for his pragmatical inter- 
ference in what concerned him not. Do you, Mr. Geddes, be so 
prudent as to take your horse and leave this place, which is growing 
every moment more unfit lor the abode of a man of peace. \ou 
may wait the event in safety at Mount Sharon.” 

“ Fiiend,” replied Joshua, “ 1 can not comply with thy advice: 
1 will remain here, even as thy prisoner, as thou didst but now 
threaten, rather than leave the youth who hath suffered by and 
through me and my misfortunes, in his present state of doubtful 
safety. Wherefore I will not mount my steed Solomon; neither will 
1 turn his head toward Mount Sharon, until 1 see an end of this 
matter.” 

“ A prisoner, then, you must be,” said Redgauntlet. ”1 have 
no time to dispute the matter further with you. But tell me tor 
what you fix your eyes so attentively on yonder people of mine.” 

“ To speak the truth,” said the Quaker,. “ I admire to behold 
among them a little wretch of a boy called Renjie, to whom 1 think 
Satan has given the power of transporting himself wheresoever mis- 
chief is going forward; so that it may be truly said, there is no evil 
in this land wherein he hath not a finger, if not a whole hand.” 

The boy, w'ho saw their eyes fixed on him as they spoke, seemed 
embarrassed, and rather desirous of making his escape; but at a 
signal from Redgauntlet he advanced, assuming the sheepish look 
and rustic manner with which the jackanapes covered much acute- 
ness and roguery. 

“ How long have you been with the party, sirrah?” said Red- 
gauntlet. 

“ Since the raid on the stake-nets,” said Benjie, with his finger 
in his mouth. 

“ And what made you follow us?” 

“ 1 dauredna stay at hame for the constables,” replied the boy. 

“ And what have you been doing all this time?” 

“ Doing, sir?— 1 dinna ken what ye ca' doing — 1 have been doing 
naething,” said Benjie; then seeing something in Redgaunl let’s eye 
which was not to be^triflcd with, he added, ‘‘ Naething but waiting 
on Maister Cristal Nixon.” 

“Hum! — ay — indeed?” mutlered Redgauntlet. “Must Master 
Nixon bring his own retinue to the field? This must be seen to.” 

fle was about to pursue his inquiry, when Nixon himself came 
to him with looks of anxious haste. “ The father is come,” he 
whispered, “and the gentlemen are getting together in the largest 


304 


REDGAUNTLET. 


room of the house, and they desire to see you. Yonder is your 
nephew, loo, making a noise like a man in Bedlam.” 

“ 1 will look to it all instantly,” said Redgauntlet. “ Is the father 
lodged as 1 directed?” 

Cristal nodded. 

“Now, then, for the final trial,” said Redgauntlet. He folded 
his hands— looked upward — crossed himself — and after 1 his act of 
devotion (almost the first which any one had observed him make 
use of), he commanded Nixon to keep good watch — have his horses 
and men ready for every emergence — look after the safe custody 
of the prisoners— but treat them at the same time well and civilly^ 
And, these orders given, he darted hastily into the house. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

NARRATIVE CONTINUED. 

Redgauntlet’s first course was to the chamber of his nephew* 
He unlocked the door, entered the apartment, and asked what he 
wanted, that he made so much noise. 

“ 1 want my liberty,” said Darsie, who had wrought himself up 
to a pitch of passion in which his uncle’s wrath had lost its terrors. 
‘‘ 1 desire my liberty, and to be assured of the safety of my beloved 
friend, Alan Fairford, whose voice 1 heard but now.” 

“ Your liberty shall be your own within half an hour from this 
period— your friend shall be also set at freedom in due time— and 
you yourself be permitted to have access to his place of confi De- 
ment.” 

“ This does not satisfy me,” said Darsie; “ 1 must see my friend 
instantly; he is here, and he is here endangered on my account only 
—I have heard violent exclamations— the clash of swords. You 
will gain no point with me unless 1 have ocular demonstration of 
his safety.” 

‘‘Arthur — dearest nephew, ’ answered Redgauntlet, ‘‘drive mo 
not mad! Thine own fate— that of thy house— that of thousands 
— that of Britain herself, are at this moment in the scales; and you 
are only occupied about the safety of a poor insignificant pettifog- 
ger!” 

‘‘He has sustained injury at your hands, then?” said Darsie, 
fiercely. “ 1 know he has; but if so, not even our relationship shall 
protect you.” 

“ Peace, ungrateful and obstinate fool!” said Redgauntlet. “ Fet 
stay— will you be satisfied if you see this Alan Fairford, the bun- 
dle of bombazine— this precious friend of yours — well and sound? 
VV ill you, 1 say, be satisfied with seeing him in perfect safety, with- 
out attempting to speak to or converse with him?” Darsie signified 
his assent. “ Take hold of my arm, then,” said Redgauntlet; “ and 
do you, niece Lilias, take the other; and beware. Sir Arthur, how 
you bear yourself.” 

Darsie was compelled to acquiesce, sufficiently aware that nis 
uncle would permit him no interview with a friend whose influence 
would certainly be used against his present earnest wishes, and in. 


REDGAUNTLET. 305 

some measure contented with the assurance ot Fair-ford’s personal 
safety. 

Red gaunt let led them through one or two passages (for the house, 
as we have before said, was very irregular, and built at different 
times), until they entered an apartment, where a man with shoul- 
dered carbine kept watch at the door, but readily turned the key for 
their reception. In this room they found Alan Fairford and the 
Quaker, apparently in deep conversation with each other. They 
looked up as Redgauntlet and his party entered; and Alan pulled 
off his hat and made a profound reverence, which the young lady, 
who recognized him — though, masked as she was, he could not 
know her — returned with some embarrassment, arising probably 
from the recollection of the bold step she had taken in visiting him. 

Darsie longed to speak, but dared not. His uncle only said, 
“ Gentlemen, I know you are as anxious on Mr. Darsie Latimer’s 
account as he is upon yours. 1 am commissioned by him to inform 
you that he is as well as you are — I trust you willall meet soon. 
Meantime, although 1 can not suffer you to be at large, you shall be 
as well treated as is possible under your temporary confinement.” 

He passed on, without pausing to hear the answers which the 
lawyer and the Quaker were hastening to prefer; and only waving 
his hand by way of adieu, made his exit, with the real and the 
seeming lady whom he had under his charge, through a door at the 
upper end of the apartment, which was fastened and guarded like 
that by which they entered. 

Redgauntlet next led the way into a very small room; adjoining 
which, but divided by a partition, was one of apparently larger 
dimensions; for they heard the trampling of the heavy boots of the 
period, as if several persons were walking to and fro, and convers- 
ing in low and anxious whispers. 

“ Here,” said Redgauntlet to his nephew, as he disencumbered 
him from the riding-skirt and the mask, “ I’ll restore you to your- 
self, and trust you will lay aside all effeminate thoughts with this 
feminine dress. Do not blush at having worn a disguise to which 
kings and heroes have been reduced. It is when female craft or 
female cowardice finds its way into a manly bosom, that he who 
entertains these sentiments should take eternal shame to himself for 
thus having resembled womankind. Follow me, while Lilias re- 
mains here. 1 will introduce you to those whom 1 hope to see asso- 
ciated with you in the most glorious cause that hand ever drew 
sword in.” 

Darsie paused. “ Uncle,” he said, “ my person is in your hands; 
but remember, my will is my owm. I will not be hurried into any 
resolution of importance. Remember what 1 have already said — 
what 1 now repeat— that 1 will take no step of importance but upon 
conviction.” 

“ But canst thou be convinced, thou foolish boy, without hearing 
and understanding the grounds on which we act?” 

So saying he took Darsie by the arm, and walked with him to the 
next room — a large apartment, partly filled with miscellaneous arti- 
cles of commerce, chiefly connected with contraband trade; tvhere, 
among bales and barrels, sat oi walked to and fro several gentle- 


306 


ItEDGATOTLET. 


men, whose manners and looks seemed superior to the plain riding- 
dresses which they wore. 

There was a grave and stern anxiety upon their countenances 
when, on Redgauntlet’s entrance, they drew from their separate 
coteries into one group around him, and saluted him with a formal- 
ity which had something in it of ominous melancholy. As Darsie 
looked around the circle, he thought he could discern in it few 
traces of that adventurous hope which urges men upon desperate 
enterprises; and began to believe that the conspiracy would dissolve 
of itself, without the necssity of his placing himself in direct op- 
position to so violent a character as his uncle, and incurring the 
hazard with which such opposition must be attended. 

Mr. Redgauntlet, however, did not or would not see any such 
marks of depression of spirits amongst his coadjutors, but met them 
with cheerful countenance, and a^ warm greeting of welcome. 
44 Happy to meet you here, my lord,” he said, bowing low to a slen- 
der young man. “ I trust you come with the pledges of j r our noble 

father, of B , and all that loyal house. Sir Richard, what news 

in the west? I am told you had two hundred men on foot to have 
joined when the fatal retreat from Derby was commenced. When 
the White Standard is again displayed, it shall not be turned back 
so easily, either by the foice of its enemies, or the falsehood of its 
friends. Dr. Grumball, I bow to the representative of Oxford, the 
mother of learning anil loyalty. Pengwiniou, you Cornish chough, 
has this good wind blown you north? Ah, my brave Cambro- 
Britons, when was Wales last in the race of honor?” 

Such and such-like compliments he dealt around, which were in 
general answered by silent bows; but when he saluted one of his 
own countrymen by the name of MacKellar, and greeted Maxwell 
of Summertrees by that of Pate in-Peril, the latter replied, 44 that if 
Pate were not a fool he would be Pale-in-Safety;” and the former, 
a thin old gentleman, in tarnished embroidery, said bluntly, 44 Ay, 
troth, Redgauntlet, 1 am here just like yourself; I have little to lose 
— they that took my land the last time may take my life this; and 
that is all I care about it.” 

The English gentlemen, who were si ill in possession of their pa- 
ternal estates, looked doubtfully on each other, and there was some- 
thing whispered among them of the fox which had lost his tail. 

Redgauntlet hastened to address them. 44 1 think, my lords and 
gentlemen,” he said, 44 that I can account for something like sad- 
ness which has crept upon an assembly gathered together for so 
noble a purpose. Our numbers seem, when thus assembled, too 
small and inconsiderable to shake the firm-seated usurpation of a 
half century. But do not count us by what we are in thew and 
muscle, but by what our summons can do among our countrymen. 
In this small party are those who have power to raise battalions, 
and those who have wealth to pay them. And do not believe our 
friends who are absent are cold or indifferent to the cause. Let us 
once light the signal, and it will be hailed by all who retain love for 
the Stuart, and by all— a more numerous body — who hate the Elec- 
tor. Here I have letters from—” 

Sir Richard Glendale interrupted the speaker. 44 We all confide, 
Redgauntlet, in your valor and skill — we admire your perseverance; 


REDGAUNTLET. 


30 ? 

and probably nothing short of your strenuous exertions, and the 
emulation, awakened by your noble and disinterested conduct, could 
have brought so many of us, the scattered remnant of a disheartened 
party, to meet together once again in solemn consultation; fori take 
it, gentlemen,” he said, looking round, ‘‘this is only a consulta- 
tion.” 

“ Nothing more,” said the young lord. 

“ Nothing more,” said Dr. Grumball, shaking his large academ- 
ical peruke. 

And, ‘‘ Only a consultation,” was echoed by the others. 

Redgauntlet bit his lip. “ 1 had hopes,” he said, “ that the dis- 
courses I have held with most of you from time to time had ripened 
into more maturity than your words imply, and that we were here 
to execute as well as to deliberate; and for this we stand prepared. 
1 can raise five hundred men with my whistle.” 

“ Five hundred menl” said one of the Welsh squires; “ Cot bless 
us! and pray you, what cood could five hundred men do?” 

“All that the priming does for the cannon, Mr. Meredith,” an- 
swered Redgauntlet; ‘‘ it will enable us to seize Carlisle, and you 
know what our fiiends have engaged for in that case.” 

“ Yes — but,” said the young nobleman, *‘ you must not burry us 
on too fast, Mr. Redgauntlet: we are all, I believe, as sinceie and 
true-hearted in this business as you are, but we will not be driven 
forward blindfold. We owe caution to ourselves and our families, 
as well as to those whom we are empowered to represent on this oc- 
casion.” 

“ Who hurries you, my lord? Who is it that would drive this 
meeting forward blindfold? 1 do not understand your lordship,” 
said Redgauntlet. 

‘‘ Nay,” said Sir Richard Glendale, “at least do not let us fall 
under our old reproach of disagreeing among ourselves. What my 
lord means, Redgauntlet, is, that we have this morning heard it is 
uncertain whether you could even bring that body of men whom 
you count upon; your countryman, Mr. MacKellar, seemed, just 
before you came in, to doubt whether your people would rise in any 
force unless you could produce the authority of your nephew.” 

“I might ask,” said Redgauntlet, “ what right MacKellar, or 
any one, has to doubt my being able to accomplish what I stand 
pledged for. But our hopes consist in our unity. Here stands my 
nephew. Gentlemen, I present to you my kinsman, Sir Arthur 
Darsie Redgauntlet of that ilk.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Darsie, with a throbbing bosom, for he felt 
the crisis a very painful one, “ allow me to say that 1 suspend ex- 
pressing my sentiments on the important subject under discussion 
until I have heard those of the present meeting.” 

“Proceed in your deliberations, gentlemen,” said Redgauntlet; 
“ 1 will show my nephew such reasons for acquiescing in the result 
as will entirely remove any scruples which may hang around his 
mind.” 

Dr. Grumball now coughed, “ shook his ambrosial curls,” and 
addressed the assembly. 

“ The principles of Oxford,” he said, “ are well understood, since 
she was the last to resign herself to the Arch-Usurper, since she has 


308 


REDGAUNTLET. 


condemned, by her sovereign authority, the blasphemous, atheist- 
ical. and anarchical tenets of Locke, and other deluders of the pub- 
lic mind. Oxford will give men, money, and countenance to the 
cause of the rightful monarch. But we have been often deluded 
by foreign powers, who have availed themselves of our zeal to stir 
up civil dissensions in Britain, not for the advantage of our blessed 
though banished monarch, but to stir up disturbances by which 
they might profit, while we, their tools, are sure to be ruined. Ox- 
ford, therefore, will not rise unless our sovereign comes in person to 
claim our allegiance, in which case, God forbid we should refuse 
him our best obedience.” 

“ It is a very cood advice,” said Mr. Meredith. 

“ In troth,” said Sir Richard Glendale, “ it is the very keystone 
of our enterprise, and the only condition upon which 1 myself and 
others could ever have dreamed of taking up arms. No insurrec- 
tion which has not Charles Edward himself as its head will ever 
last longer than till a single foot company of red-coats march to 
disperse it.” 

‘‘This is my own opinion, and that of all my family,” said the 
young nobleman alieady mentioned; ‘‘ and I own 1 am somewhat 
surprised at being summoned to attend a dangerous rendezvous 
such as this before something certain could have been stated to us 
on this most important preliminary point.” 

“ Pardon me, my lord,” said Redgauntlet; “ 1 have not been so 
unjust either to myself or my friends — I had no means of communi- 
cating to our distant confederates (without the greatest risk of 
discovery) what is known to some of my honorable friends. As cou- 
rageous and as resolved as when, twenty years since, he threw him- 
self into the wilds of Moidart, Charles Edward has instantly com- 
plied with the wishes of his faithful subjects. Charles Edward is 
in this country — Charles Edward is in this house! Charles Edward 
waits but your present decision to receive the homage of those who 
have ever called themselves his loyal liegemen. He that would now 
turn his coat and change his note must do so under the eye of his 
Sovereign.” 

There was a deep pause. Those among the conspirators whom 
mere habit, or a desire of preserving consistency, had engaged in 
the affair, now saw with terror their retreat cut oft; and others who, 
at a distance, had regarded the proposed enterprise as hopeful, 
trembled when the moment of actually embarking in it was thus un- 
expectedly and almost inevitably precipitated. 

” How now, my lords and gentlemen!” said Redgauntlet; ” is it 
delight and rapture that keep you thus silent? where are the eager 
welcomes that should be paid to your rightful King, who a second 
time confides his person to the care of his subjects, undeterred by 
the hair-breadth escapes and severe privations of his former ex- 
pedition? X hope there is no gentleman here that is not ready to 
redeem, in his prince’s presence, the pledge of fidelity which he 
offered in his absence.” 

“1, at least,” said the young nobleman, resolutely, and laying 
his hand on his sword, ‘‘ will not be that coward. It Charles is come 
to these shores, 1 will be the first to give him welcome, and to de- 
vote my life and fortune to his service.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 309 

“Before Cot,” said Mr. Meredith, “I do not see that Mr. Red- 
gauntlet has left us anything else to do.” 

“Stay,” said Summertrees, “there is yet one other question. 
Has lie brought any of those Irish rapparees with him who broke 
the neck ot our last glorious affair?” 

“ Not a man ot them,” said Redgauntlet. 

“ I trust,” said Dr. Grumball, “ that there are no Catholic priests 
in his company. 1 would not intrude on the private conscience of 
my sovereign, but, as an unworthy son ot the Church of England, 
it is my duty to consider her security.” 

“ Not a Popish dog or cat is there to bark or mew about his maj- 
esty,” said Redgauntlet. “ Old Shaftesbury himself could not wish 
a prince’s person more secure from Popery — which may not be the 
worst religion in the world, notwithstanding. Any more doubts, 
gentlemen? can no more plausible reasons be discovered for post- 
poning the payment of our duty, and discharge ot our oaths and en- 
gagements? Meantime your king wails youi declaration— by my 
faith he hath but a frozen reception!” 

“ Redgauntlet,” said Sir Richard Glendale, calmly, “your re- 
proaches shall not goad me into anything of which my reason dis- 
approves. That 1 respect my engagement as much as you do is 
evident, since 1 am here, ready to support it with the best blood in 
my veins. But has the king really come hither entirely unattended?” 

“ He has no man with him but young as aid-de-camp, and a 

single valet- de-chambre.” 

“ No man ; but Redgauntlet, as you are a gentleman, has he no 
woman with him?” 

Redgauntlet cast his eyes on the ground, and replied, “I am 
sorry to say — he has.” 

The company looked at each other, and remained silent for a mo- 
ment. At length Sir Richard proceeded: “ 1 need not repeat to 
you, Mr. Redgauntlet, what is the well-grounded opinion of his maj- 
esty’s friends concerning that most unhappy connection; there is 
but one sense and feeling amongst us upon the subject. I must 
conclude that our humble remonstrances were communicated by 
you, sir, to the king?” 

“ In the same strong terms in which they were couched,” replied 
Redgauntlet. “ 1 love his majesty’s cause more than 1 fear his dis- 
pleasure.” 

“But, apparently, our humble expostulation has produced no 
effect. This lady, who has crept into his bosom, has a sister in the 
Elector of Hanover’s Court, and yet we are well assured that our 
most private communication is placed in her keeping.” 

“ Varium et mutdbile semper femina, ’ ’ said Dr. Grumball. 

“ She puts his secrets into her work-bag,” said Maxwell; “ «nd 
out they fly -whenever she opens it. If 1 must hang, 1 would wish 
it to be in somewhat a better rope than the string of a lady’s hussy.” 

“ Are you, too, turning dastard, Maxwell?” said Redgauntlet, in 
a whisper. 

“ Not I,” said Maxwell; “ let us fight for it, and let them win 
and wear us; but to be betrayed by a brimstone like that — ” 

“Be temperate, gentlemen,” said Redgauntlet; “the foible ot 
which you complain so heavily has always been that of kings and 


310 


REDGAUNTLET. 


heroes, which 1 feel strongly confident the king will surmount upon 
the humble entreaty of his best servants, and when he sees them 
ready to peril their all in his cause upon the slight condition of his 
resigning the society of a female favorite, of whom. 1 have seen, 
reason to think he hath been himself for some time wearied. But 
let us not press upon him rashly with oui well-meant zeal. He 
has a princely will, as becomes his princely birth, and we, gentle- 
men, who are royalists, should be the last to take advantage of cir- 
cumstances to limit its exercise. 1 am as much surprised and hurt 
as you can be to find that he has made her the companion of this 
journey, increasing every chance of treachery and detection. But 
do not let us insist upon a sacrifice so humiliating while he has 
scarce placed a foot upon the beach ot his kingdom. Let us act 
generously by our sovereign; and when we have shown what we 
will do for him, we shall be able, with better face, to state what it 
is we expect him to concede.” 

“ Indeed, 1 think it is but a pity,” said MacKellar, “ when so 
many pretty gentlemen are got together, that they should part with- 
out the flash of a sword among them.” 

*‘ I should be of that gentleman’s opinion,” said Lord , “ had 

1 nothing to lose but my life; but 1 fiankJy own that the conditions 
on which our family agreed to join having been, in this instance, 
left unfulfilled, 1 will not peril the whole foi tunes of our house on 
the doubtful fidelity of an artful woman.” 

”1 am sorry to see your lordship,” said Redgauntlet, “take a 
course which is more likely to secure your house’s wealth than to 
augment its honors.” 

“ How am I to understand your language, sir?” said the young 
nobleman, haughtily. 

“Nay, gentlemen,” said Dr. Grumball, interposing; “do not 
let friends quarrel: we are all zealous tor the cause— but truly, 
although I know the license claimed by the great in such matters, 
and can, 1 hope, make due allowance, there is, 1 may say, an in- 
decorum in a prince who comes to claim the allegiance of the 
Church of England arriving on such an errand with such a com- 
panion— si non caste , caute tamen." 

“ 1 wonder how the Church of England came to be so heartily 
attached to his merry old namesake,” said Redgauntlet. 

Sir Richard Glendale then took up the question, as one whose 
authority and experience gave him right to speak with much weight. 
“ We have no leisure for hesitation,” he said; “ it is full time that 
we decide what course we are to hold. 1 feel as much as you, Mr. 
Redgauntlet, the delicacy of capitulating with our Sovereign in his 
present condition. But I must also think of the total ruin of the 
cause, the confiscation and bloodshed which will take place among 
his adherents, and all through the infatuation with which he ad- 
heres to a woman who is the pensionary of the present Minister, as 
she was for years Sir Robert Walpole’s. Let his Majesty send her 
back to the Continent, and the sword on which 1 now lay my hands 
shall instantly be unsheathed, and, 1 trust, many hundred others 
at the same moment.” 

The other persons present testified their unanimous acquiescence 
in what Sir Richard Glendale had said. 


REDGAUNTLET. 


311 


“ 1 see you have taken your resolutions, gentlemen,” said Red- 
gauntlet; 44 unwisely 1 think, because 1 believe that by softer and 
more generous proceedings, you would have been more likely to 
carry a point which 1 think as desirable as you do. But what is 
to be done it Charles should refuse, with the inflexibility ot his 
grandfather, to comply with this request of yours? Do you mean 
to abandon him to his fate?” 

44 God forbid!” said Sir Richard, hastily; ‘‘and God forgive 
you, Mr. Redgauntlet, for breathing such a thought. No! 1 for 
one will, with all duty and humility, see him safe back to his ves- 
sel, and defend him with my life against whosoever shall assail 
him. But when I have seen his sails spread, my next act will be 
to secure, if 1 can, my own safety, by retiring to my house; or, if 
1 find our engagement, as is too probable, has taken wind, by sur- 
rendering myself to the next Justice of Peace, and giving security 
that hereafter I shall live quiet, and submit to the ruling powers.” 

Again the rest of the persons present intimated their agreement 
in opinion with the speaker. 

44 Well, gentlemen,” said Redgauntlet, 4C it is not tor me to op- 
poses the opinion ot every one; and I must do you the justice to 
say, that the King has, in the present instance, neglected a condi- 
tion of your agreement which was laid before him in very distinct 
teims. The question now is, who is to acquaint him with the re- 
sult of this conference; for 1 presume you would not wait on him 
in a body to make the proposal that he should dismiss a person 
from his family as the price of your allegiance?” 

44 i think Mr. Redgauntlet should make the explanation,” said 

Lord . “ As he has, doubtless, done justice to our remonstrances 

by communicating them to the King, no one can, with such pro- 
priety and force, state the natural and inevitable consequence of 
their being neglected.” 

“Now, 1 think,” said Redgauntlet, “that those who make the 
objection should state it, for I am confident the King will hardly 
believe, on less authority than that of the heir of the loyal House 

of B , that he is the first to seek an evasion ot his pledge to join 

him.” 

44 An evasion, sir!” repeated Lord— — , fiercely. “ I have borne 
too much from you already, and this 1 will not endure. Favor me 
with your company to the downs.” 

Redgauntlet laughed scornfully, and was about to follow the 
fiery young man, when Sir Richard again interposed. “ Are we 
to exhibit,” he said, 44 the last symptoms of the dissolution of our 
party, by turning our swords against each other? Be patient, 
Lord ; in such conferences as this, much must pass unques- 

tioned which might brook challenge elsew’here. There is a privi- 
lege of party as of parliament— men can not, in emergency, stand 
upon picking phrases. Gentlemen, if you will extend your confi- 
dence in me so far, I will wait upon his Majesty, and 1 hope my 
Lord and Mr. Redgauntlet will accompany me. 1 trust, the ex- 

planation of this unpleasant matter will prove entirely satisfactory, 
and that we shall find ourselves at liberty to render our homage to 
our sovereign without reserve, when 1 for one will be the first to 
peril all in his just quarrel.” 


312 REDGAUNTLjJT. 

Redgauntlet at once stepped forward. “ My lord,” he said, ” if 
my zeal made me say anything in the slightest degree offensive, 1 wish 
it unsaid, and ask your pardon. A gentleman can do no more.” 

“ 1 could not have asked Mr. Redgauntlet to do so much,” said 
the young nobleman, willingly accepting ilie hand which Red- 
gauntlet offered. ” 1 know no man living horn whom 1 could take 
so much reproof without a sense of degradation, as from himself.” 

“ Let me then hope, my lord, that you will go with Sir Richard 
and me to the presence. Your warm blood will heat our zeal — our 
colder resolves will temper yours.” 

The young lord smiled, and shook his head. “ Alas! Mr. Red- 
gaunllet,” he said, ” 1 am ashamed to say, that in zeal you sur- 
pass us all. But 1 will not refuse this mission, provided you will 
permit Sir Arthur, your nephew, also to accompany us.” 

“ My nephew?” said Redgauntlet, and seemed to hesitate, then 
added, “Most certainly. I trust,” he said, looking at Darsie, 
“ lie will bring to his Prince’s presence such sentiments as lit the 
occasion.” 

It seemed, however, to Darsie, that his uncle would rather have 
left him behind, had he not feared that he might in thal case have 
been influenced by, or might perhaps himself influence, the un- 
resolved confederates with whom he must have associated during 
his absence. 

“ I will go,” said Redgauntlet, “and request admission.” 

Ip a moment after he returned, and without speaking, motioned 
for the young nobleman to advance. He did so, followed by Sir 
Richard Gbndale and Darsie, Redgauntlet himself bringing up the 
rear. A short passage, and a few steps, brought them to the door 
of the temporary presence-chamber, in which the Royal Wanderer 
was to receive their homage. It was the upper lott of one of those 
cottages which made additions to the old inn, poorly furnished, 
dusty, and in disorder; for, rash as the enterprise might be consid- 
ered, they had been still careful not. to draw the attention of stran- 
gers by any particular attentions to the personal accommodation of 
the Prince." He was seated, when the deputies, as they might be 
termed, of his remaining adherents entered; and as he rose, and 
came forward and bowed, in acceplance of their salutation, it was 
with a dignified courtesy which at once supplied whatever was de- 
ficient in external pomp, and converted the wretched garret into a 
saloon worthy of the occasion. 

It is needless to add, that he was the same personage already in- 
troduced in the character of Father Buonaventure, by which name 
he was distinguished at Fairladies. His dress w T as not different 
from what he then wore, excepting that he had a loose riding-coat 
of camlet, under which he carried an efficient cut-and-thrust sword, 
instead of his walking-iapier, and also a pair of pistols. 

Redgauntlet presented to him successively the young Lord 

and his kinsman, Sir Arthur Daisie Redgauntlet, who trembled as, 
bowing and kissing his hand, he found himself surprised into what 
might be construed an act of high treason, which yet he saw no sate 
means to avoid. 

Sir Richard Glendale seemed personally known to Charles Ed- 
ward, who received him with a mixture of dignity and affection, and 


REDGAUNTLET. 


313 


seemed to sympathize with the tears which rushed into that gentle- 
man’s eyes, as he bade his Majesty welcome to his native kingdom. 

“ les, my good Sir Richard,” said the unfortunate Prince; in a 
tone melancholy, yet resolved, “ Charles Edward is with his faithful 
friends once more— not, perhaps, with his former gay hopes which 
undervalued danger, but with the same determined contempt of the 
w^orst which can befall him, in claiming his own rights and those of 
his country.” 

“ 1 rejoice, sir — and-yet, alas! 1 must also grieve, to see you once 
more on the British shores.” said Sir Richard Glendale, and stopped 
short — a tumult of contradictory feelings preventing his further 
utterance. 

“It is the call of my faithful and suffering people which alone 
c&uld have induced me to take once more the sword in my hand. 
For my own part. Sir Richard, when 1 have reflected how many of 
my loyal and devoted friends perished by the sword and by proscrip- 
tion, or died indigent and neglected in a foreign land/L have often 
sworn that no view to my personal aggrandizement should again in- 
duce me to agitate a title which has cost my followers so dear. But. 
since so many men of worth and honor conceive the cause of Eng- 
land and Scotland to be linked with that of Charles Stuart, 1 must 
follow their brave example, and, laying aside all other considera- 
tions, once more stand forward as their deliverer. 1 am, however, 
come hither upon your invitation; and as you are so completely ac- 
quainted with circumstances to which my absence must necessarily 
have rendered me a stranger. 1 must be a mere tool in the hands of 
my lriends. 1 know well 1 never can refer myself implicitly to 
moie loyal hearts or wiser heads than Herries Redgauntlet and Sir 
Richard Glendale. Give me your advice, then, how we are to pro- 
ceed, and decide upon the fate of Charles Edward.” 

Redgauntlet looked at Sir Richard, as if to say, “ Can you press 
any additional or unpleasant condition at a moment like this?” And 
the other shook his head and looked down, as if his resolution was 
unaltered, and yet as feeling all the delicacy of the situation. 

There was a silence, which was broken by the unfortunate repre- 
sentative of an unhappy dynasty, with some appearance of irritation. 

“ This is strange, gentlemen,” he said; ‘‘you have sent for me 
from tire bosom of my family, to head an adventure of doubt and 
danger; and when 1 come, your own minds seem to be still irreso- 
lute. 1 had not expected this on the part of two such men.” 

“For me, Sire,” said Redgauntlet, “the steel of my sword is 
not truer than the temper of my mind.” 

“My Lord ’s and mine are equally so,” said Sir Richard; 

“ but vou had in charge, Mr. Redgauntlet, to convey our request 
to his Majesty, coupled with certain conditions.” 

“ And I discharged my duty to his Majesty and to you,” said 
Redgauntlet. 

“ i looked at no condition, gentlemen,” said their King, with dig- 
nity, save that which called me here to assert my rights in person. 
That 1 have fulfilled at no common risk. Here I stand to keep 
my word, and 1 expect of you to be true to yours.” 

“ There was, or should have been, something moie than that in 


314 


REDGAUNTLET. 


our proposal, please your Majesty,” said Sir Richard. “ There was 
a condition annexed to it.” 

“ I s&w it not,” said Charles, interrupting him. ‘‘Out of ten- 
derness toward the noble hearts of whom 1 think so highly, 1 would 
neither see nor read anything which could lessen them in my love 
and my esteem. Conditions can have no part betwixt Piince and 
subject.” 

“ Sire,” said Redgauntlet, kneeling on one knee, ‘‘I see from 
Sir Richard’s countenance he deems it my fault that your Majesty 
seems ignorant of what your subjects desired that 1 should com- 
municate to your Majesty. For Heaven’s sake! for the sake of all 
my past services and sufferings, leave not such a stain upon my 
honor! The note, IN umber D, of which this is a copy, referred to 
the painful subject to which Sir Richard again directs your atten- 
tion.” 

“You press upon me, gentlemen,” said the Prince, coloring 
highly, “ recollections, which, as 1 hold them most alien to your 
character, 1 would willingly have banished from my memory. 1 
did not suppose that my loyal subjects would think so poorly of 
me, as to use my depressed circumstances as a reason for forcing 
themselves into my domestic privacies, and stipulating arrangements 
with their King regarding matters, in which the meanest hinds 
claim the privilege of thinking for themselves. In affairs of state 
and public policy, 1 will ever be guided, as becomes a prince, by the 
advice of my wisest counselors; in those which regard my private 
affections, and my domestic arrangements, 1 claim the same free- 
dom of will which I allow to all my subjects, and without which a. 
crown were less worth wealing than a besrgar’s bonnet.” 

“May it please youi Majesly,” said Sir Richard Glendale, “I 
see it must be my lot to speak unwilling truths; but believe me, 1 
do so with as much profound respect as deep regret. It is true, we 
have called you to head a mighty undertaking, and that your 
Majesty, preferring honor to safety, and the love of your country 
to your own ease, has condescended to become r*ur leader. But we 
also pointed out as a necessary and indispensable preparatory step* 
to the achievement of our purpose— and, 1 must say, as a positive 
condition of our engaging in it — that an individual, supposed — 1 
presume not to guess how truly— to have your Majesty’s more in- 
timate confidence, and believed, 1 will not say on absolute proof, 
but upon the most pregnant suspicion, to be capable of betraying 
that confidence to the Elector of Hanover, should be removed from 
your royal household and society.” 

“ This is too insolent, Sir Richard !” said Charles Edward. “ Have 
you inveigled me into your power to bait, me in this unseemly man- 
ner? And you, Redgauntlet, why did you suffer matters to come 
to such a point as this, without making me more distinctly aware 
what insults were to be practiced on me?” 

“ My gracious prince,” said Redgauntlet, “ 1 am so far to blame 
in this that 1 did not think so slight an impediment as that of a 
woman’s society could have really interrupted an undertaking of this 
magnitude. 1 am a plain man, Sire, and speak but bluntly ; I could 
not have dreamed but what, tvithin the first five minutes of this- 
interview, either Sir Richard and his friends would have ceased to* 


REDG A.UNTLET. 


315 


insist upon a condition so ungrateful to your Majesty, or that 
your Majesty would have sacrificed this unhappy attachment to the 
sound advice, or even to the overanxious suspicions, of so many 
faithful subjects. 1 saw no entanglement in such a difficulty 
which on either side might not have been broken through like a 
cobweb.” 

“You were mistaken, sir,” said Charles Edward, “ entirely mis- 
taken — as much so as you are at this moment, when you think in 
your heart my refusal to comply with this insolent proposition is 
dictated by a childish and romantic passion for an individual. 1 
tell you, sir, 1 could part with that person to-moirow, without an 
instant’s regret — that 1 have had thoughts of dismissing her from 
my court, for reasons known to myself; but that 1 will never betray 
my rights as a sovereign and a man, by taking this step to secuie 
the favor or any one, or to purchase that allegiance which, if you 
owe it to me at all, is due to me as my birthright.” 

“ 1 am sorry for this,” said Redgauntlet; “ 1 hope both ynur Maj- 
esty and Sir Richard will reconsider your resolutions, or forbear 
this discussion, in a conjuncture so pressing. I trust your Majesty 
will recollect that you are on hostile ground; that our preparations 
can not have so far escaped notice as to permit us now with safety 
to retreat from our purpose, insomuch that it is with the deepest 
anxiety of heart 1 foresee even danger to your own royal person, 
unless you can generously give your subjects the satisfaction which 
Sir Richard seems to think they are obstinate in demanding.” 

“And deep indeed your anxiety ought to be,” said the prince. 

Is it in these circumstances of personal danger in which you ex- 
pect to overcome a resolution, which is founded on a sense of what 
is due to me as a man or a prince? If the ax and scaffold were 
ready before the windows of Whitehall 1 would rather tread the 
same path with my great-grandfather than concede the slightest 
point in which my honor is concerned.” 

He spoke these words with a determined accent, and looked 
around him on the company, all of whom (excepting Darsie, who 
•saw, he thought, a fair period to a most perilous enterprise) seemed 
in deep anxiety and confusion. At length Sir Richard spoke in a 
solemn and melancholy tone. 

“ If the 3afety,” he said, “ of poor Richard Glendale were alone 
concerned in this matter, I have never valued my life enough to 
weigh it against the slightest point of your Majesty’s service. But 
I am only a messenger — a commissioner, who must execute my 
trust, and upon whom a thousand voices will cry curse and woe, 
if I do it not with fidelity. All of your adherents, even Redgauntlet 
himself, see certain ruin to this enterprise— the greatest danger to 
your Majesty’s person — the utter destruction of all your party and 
friends, if they insist not on the point which, unfortunately, your 
Majesty is so unwilling to concede. 1 speak it with a heart full of 
anguish — with a tongue unable to utter my emotions— but it must 
be spoken — the fatal truth — that if your royal goodness can not 
yield to us a boon which we hold necessary to our security anil 
your own, your Majesty with one word disarms ten thousand men, 
ready to draw their swords in your behalf; or, to speaK yet more 


316 


REDGAUNTLET. 


plainly, you annihilate even the semblance of a royal party in Great 
Britain.” 

“ And why do you not add,” said the prince, scornfully, “ that 
the men who have been ready to assume arms in my behalf, will 
atone tor their treason to the Elector by delivering me up to the 
fate for which so many proclamations have destined me? Carry 
my head to St. James's, gentlemen; you will do a more acceptable 
and a more honorable action than, having inveigled me into a situa- 
tion which places me so completely in your power, to dishonor 
yourselves by propositions whicn dishonor me.” 

“My God, Sire!” exclaimed Sir Richard, clasping his hands to- 
gether, in impatience, “ of what great and inexpiable crime can 
your Majesty’s ancestors have been guilty, that they have been pun- 
ished by the infliction of judicial blindness on their whole genera- 
tion! Come, my Lord , we must to our friends.” 

“By your leave, Sir Richard,” said the young nobleman, “ not 
till we have learned what measures can be taken for his Majesty’s 
personal safely.” 

“ Care not for me, young man,” said Charles Edward; “ when I 
was in the society of Highland robbers and cattle drovers I was 
safer than 1 now hold myself among the representatives of the best 
blood in England. Farewell, gentlemen — 1 will shift for myself. ” 

“ This must never be,” said Redgauntlet. “ Let me that brought 
you to the point of danger at least provide for your safe retreat.” . 

So saying he hastily left the apartment, followed by his nephew. 

The Wanderer, averting his eyes from Lord and Sir Richard 

Glendale, threw himself into a seat at the upper end of the apart- 
ment, while they, in much anxiety, stood together, at a distance 
from him, and conversed in whispers. 


CHAPTER XX111. 

NARRATIVE CONTINUED. 

When Redgauntlet left the room in haste and discomposure the. 
first person he met on the stair, and indeed so close by the door of 
the apartment that Darsie thought he must have been listening 
there, was his attendant Nixon. • 

“ What the devil do you here?” he said, abruptly and sternly. 

“ 1 wait your orders,” said Nixon. “ I hope all’s right!— excuse 
my zeal.” 

“All is wrong, sir. Where is the sea-faring fellow— Ewart — 
what :io you call him?” 

“ Nanty Ewart, sir — 1 will carry your commands,” said Nixon. 

“1 will deliver them myself to him,” said Redgauntlet; “call 
him hither.” 

“ But should your honor leave the presence?” said Nixon, still 
lingering. 

“ ’Sdeath, sir, do you prate to me?” said Redgauntlet, bending 
his brows. “ 1, sir, transact my own business; you, 1 am told, act 
by a ragged deputy.” 

Without further answer, Nixon departed rather disconcerted as 
it seemed to Darsie. 


REDGAUNTLET. 31 ? 

“The dog turns insolent and lazy,” said Redgauntlet; “but I 
must bear with him tor awhile.” 

A moment after Nixon returned with Ewart. 

“ Is this the smuggling fellow?” demanded Redgauntlet. 

Nixon nodded. 

“ Is he sober now? — he was brawling anon.” 

“ Sober enough for business,” said Nixon. 

“Well, then, hark ye, Ewart — man your boat with your best 
hands and have her by the pier— get your other fellows on board 
the brig — if you have tiny cargo left throw it overboard; it shall be 
all paid five times over— and be ready for a start to Wales or the 
Hebrides, or perhaps for ffWeden or Norway.” 

Ewart answered sullenly enough, “ Ay, ay, sir.” 

“Go with him, Nixon,” said Redgauntlet, forcing himself to 
speak with some appearance of cordiality to the servant with whom 
he was offended, “ and see he does his duiy.” 

Ewart left the house sullenly, followed by Nixon.. The sailor 
was just in that species of drunken humor which made him jealous, 
passionate, and troublesome, without showing any other disorder 
than that of irritability. As he walked toward the beach he kept 
muttering to himself, but in such a tone that his companion lost 
not a word, “ Smuggling fellow — ay, smuggler — and, start your 
cargo into the sea — and be ready to start tor the Hebrides or Sweden 
—or the devil, 1 suppose. Well, and what if I said in answer — 
Rebel, Jacobite — traitor — I’ll make you and your d — d confeder- 
ates walk the plank — 1 have seen better men do it— halt a score of 
a morning — when 1 was across the Line.” 

“D— d unhandsome leims those Redgauntlet used to you, broth- 
er,” said Nixon. 

“ Which do you mean?” said Ewart, starting, and recollecting 
himself. “ 1 have been at my old trade of thinking aloud, have 1?” 

“ No matter,” answered Nixon; “none but a friend heard you. 
You can not have forgotten bow Redgauntlet disarmed you this 
morning.” 

“ Why, 1 would bear no malice about that— only he is so cursed- 
ly high and saucy,” said Ewart. 

“ And then,” said Nixon, “ 1 know you for a true-hearted Prot- 
estant.” 

“ That 1 am, by G — ” said Ewart. “ No, the Spaniards could 
never get my religion from me.” 

“ And a friend to King George, and the Hanover line of succes- 
sion,” said Nixon, still walking and speaking very slow. 

“ You may swear 1 am, excepting in the way of business, as 
Turnpenny says. 1 like King George, but I can’t afford to pay 
duties.” 

“ You are outlawed, 1 believe,” said Nixon. 

“ Am 1?— faith, 1 believe I am,” said Ewart. “1 wish I were 
inlawed again with all my heart. But come along, we must get all 
ready for our peremptory gentleman, 1 suppose.” 

“1 will teach you a better trick,” said Nixon. “There is a 
blood v pack of rebels yonder.” 

“ Ay, we all know that,” said the smuggler; “but the snow- 
ball’s melting, 1 think.” 


318 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


“ There is some one yonder, ■whose head is worth — thirty — thou- 
sand— pounds— ot sterling money,” said Nixon, pausing between 
each word, as if to enforce the magnificence of the sum. 

“ And what of that?” said Ewart, quickly. 

“ Only that, instead of lying by the pier with your men on their 
oars, it you will just carry your boat on board just now, and take 
no notice of any signal from the shore, by G — , Nanty Ewart, I 
will make a man of you for life.” 

“ Oh, ho! then the Jacobite gentry are not so safe as they think 
themselves?” said Nanty. 

“ In an hour or two,” replied Nixon, “ they will be made safer 
in Carlisle Castle.” 

“ The devil they will!” said Ewart; ** and you have been the in- 
former, I suppose?” 

“ Yes 1 have been ill paid for my services among the Redgaunt- 
lets — have scarce got dog’s wages — and been treated worse than 
ever dog was used. 1 have the old fox and his cubs in the same 
trap now, Nanty; and we’ll see how a certain young lady will look 
then. You see I am trank with you. Nanty.” 

“ And 1 will be frank with you,” said the smuggler. “ You are 
a d— d scoundrel — traitor to the man whose bread you eat! Me 
help to betray poor devils that have been so often betrayed myself! 
Not it they were a hundred Popes, Devils, and Pretenders. 1 will 
hack and tell them their danger — they are part ot cargo — regularly 
invoiced — put under my charge by the owners — I’ll back — ” 

“ Y r ou are not stark mad?” said Nixon, who now saw he had 
miscalculated in supposing Nanty’s wild idea ot honor and fidelity 
could be shaken even by resentment, or by his Protestant partiali- 
ties. “ You shall not go back — it is all a joke.” 

” I’ll back to Redgauntlet, and see whether it is. a joke he will 
laugn at.” 

“ My life is lost if you do,” said Nixon — ” hear reason.” 

They were in a clump or cluster of tall furze at the moment they 
were speaking, about half way between the pier and the house, but 
not in a direct line, from which Nixon, whose object it was to gain 
time, had induced Ewart to diverge insensibly. 

He now saw the necessity of taking a despeiate resolution. “ Hear 
reason,” he said; and added, as Nanty still endeavored to pass him, 
“‘ Or else hear this!” discharging a pocket-pistol into the unfortu- 
nate man’s body. 

Nanty staggered, but kept his feet. ‘‘It has cut my backbone 
asunder,” he said; “ you have done me the last good office, and I 
will not die ungrateful.” 

As he uttered the last words, he collected his remaining strength, 
stood firm for an instant, drew his hanger, and fetching a stroke 
with both hands cut Crislal Nixon down. The blow, struck with 
all the energy of a desperate and dying man, exhibited a force to 
which Ewart’s exhausted frame might have seemed inadequate; — it 
cleft the hat which the wretch wore, though secured by a plate of 
iron within the lining, bit deep into his skull, and there left a frag- 
ment of the weapon, which was broken by the f uiy of the blow. 

One of the seamen of the lugger, who strolled up, attracted by 
the firing of the pistol, though, being a small one, the report was 


REDGAUNTLET. 


319 


very trifling, found both the unfortunate men stark dead. Alarmed 
at what he saw, which he conceived to have been the consequence 
of some unsuccessful engagement betwixt his late commander and 
a revenue officer (for Nixon chanced not to be personally known to 
him), the sailor hastened back to the boat, in order to apprise his 
comrades of Nanty’s fate, and to advise them to take oft themselves 
and the vessel. 

Meantime Redgauntlet, having, as we have seen, dispatched 
Nixon for the purpose of securing a retreat for the unfortunate 
Charles, in case of extremity, returned to the apartment where he 
had left the Wanderer. He now found him alone. 

“ Sir Richard Glendale,” said the unfortunate prince, ‘‘with his 

S uing friend, has gone to consult their adherents now in the house. 

edgauntlet, my friend, 1 will not blame you for the circumstances 
in which 1 find myself, though 1 am at once placed in danger, and 
rendered contemptible. But you ought to have stated to me more 
strongly the weight which these gentlemen attached to their insolent 
proposition. You should have told me that no compromise would 
have an 3 r effect — that they desire not a prince to govern them, but 
one, on the contrary, over whom they were to exercise restraint on 
all occasions, from the highest affairs of the state, down to the most 
intimate and private concerns of his own privacy, which the most 
ordinary men desire to keep secret and sacred from interference.” 

‘‘God knows,” said Redgauntlet, in much agitation, ‘‘I acted 
for the best when 1 pressed your majesty to come hither— 1 never 
thought that your majesty, at such a crisis, would have scrupled, 
when a kingdom was in view, to sacrifice an attachment, which—” 
“ Peace, sir,” said Charles; ‘‘it is not for you to estimate my 
feelings upon such a subject.” 

Redgauntlet colored high, and bowed profoundly. “ At least,” 
he resumed, ‘‘ 1 hoped that some middle way might be found, and 
it shall — and must. Come with me, nephew. We will to these 
gentlemen, and 1 am confident 1 will bring back heart-stirring tid- 
ings.” 

“ 1 will do much to comply with them, Redgauntlet. 1 am loath, 
having again set my foot on British laud, to quit it without a 
blow for my right. But this which they demand of me is a degra- 
dation, and compliance is impossible.” 

Redgauntlet, followed by his nephew, the unwilling spectator of 
this extraordinary scene, left once more the apartment of the ad- 
venturous Wanderer, and was met on the top of the stairs by Joe 
Crackenthorp. “ Where are the other gentlemen?” he said. 

‘‘Yonder, in the west barrack,” answered Joe; ‘‘but, Master 
Ingoldsby ” — that was the name by which Redgauntlet was most 
generally known in Cumberland—” 1 wish to say to you that 1 must 
put yonder folk together in one room.” 

“ What folk?” said Redgauntlet, impatiently. 

“ Why, them prisoner stranger folk, as you bid Cristal Nixon 
look after. Lord loye you! this is a large house now, but we can 
not have separate lock-ups for folk, as they have in Newgate or in 
Bedlam. Y 7 onder’s a mad beggar, that is to be a great man when 
he wins n lawsuit. Lord help him! Yonder’s a Quaker and a law- 
yer charged wiih a riot; and, ecod, 1 must make one key and one 


320 


REDGAUNTLET. 


lock keep them, for we are chock-full, and you have sent olT old 
Nixon, that could have given one some help in this confusion. 
Besides, they take up every one a room, and call for nought on t arth 
— excepting the old man, who calls lustily enough — but he has not 
a penny to pay shot/’ 

“ Do as thou wilt with them,” said Redgauntlet, who had listened 
impatiently to his statement; ‘‘so thou dost but. keep them from 
getting out and making some alarm in the country, 1 care not.” 

“ A Quaker and a lawyer!” said Darsie. “ This must be Fairford 
and ueddes. Uncle, I must request of you — ” 

Nay, nephew,” interrupted Redgauntlet, “ this is no time tor 
asking questions'. You shall yourself' decide upon their fate in the 
course of an hour — no hann whatever is designed them.” 

So saying, lie hurried toward the place where the .Jacobite gentle- 
men were holding their council, and Darsie followed him, in the 
hope that the obstacle which had arisen to the prosecution of their 
desperate adventure would prove insurmountable, and spare him 
the necessity of a dangerous and violent rupture with his uncle. 
The discussions among them were very eager; the more daring part 
of the conspirators, who had little but life to lose, being desirous to 
proceed at all hazards; while the others, whom a sense of honor and 
a hesitation to disavow long-cherished principles had brought for- 
ward, were perhaps not ill satisfied to have a fair apology for de- 
clining an adventure into which they had entered with more of 
reluctance than zeal. 

Meanwhile Joe Crackenthorp, availing himself of the hasty per- 
mission obtained from Redgauntlet, proceeded to assemble in one 
apartment those whose safe custody had been thought necessary; 
and, without much considering the propriety of the matter, he 
selected for the common place of confinement the room which Lilias 
had, since her brother’s departure, occupied alone. It had a strong 
lock, and was double-hinged, which probably led to the preference 
assigned to it as a place of security. 

Into tli is, Joe, with little ceremony, and a good deal of noise, in- 
troduced the Quaker and Fairford; the first descanting on the im- 
morality, the other on the illegality, of his proceedings; and he 
turned a deaf ear both to the one and the other. Next he pushed 
in, almost in headlong fashion, the unfortunate litigant, who, hav- 
ing made some resistance at the threshold, had received a violent 
thrust in consequence, and came rushing forward, like a ram in the 
act of charging, with such impetus, as must have carried him to the 
top of the 100 m, and struck the cocket-liat which sat perched on 
the top of his tow wig against Miss Redgauntlet’s person, had not 
the honest Quaker interrupted his career by seizing him by the 
collar, and bringing him to a stand. ‘‘ Friend,” said he, with the 
real good breeding which so often subsists independently of cere- 
mony, 44 thou art no company for that young person; she is, thou 
seest, frightened at our being so suddenly thrust in hither; and 
although that be no fault of ours, yet it will become us to behave 
civilly toward her. Wherefore come thou with me to this window, 
and 1 will tell thee what it concerns thee to know.” 

‘‘ And what for should 1 no speak to the leddv, friend?” said 
Peter, who was now r about half seas over. “ 1 have spoke to leddies 


KEDGAUNTLET. 


321 

before now, man. What for should she be frightened at me? 1 am 
nae bogle, 1 ween. What are ye pooin’ me that gate for? Ye will 
rive my coat, and 1 will have a good action for having myself made 
sartum atque tectum at your expense.” 

Notwithstanding this threat, Mr. Geddes, whose muscles were as 
strong as his judgment was sound, and his temper sedate, led Poor 
Peter, under the sense of a control against which he could not strug- 
gle, to the further corner of the apartment, where, placing him, 
whether he would or no, in a chair, he sat down beside him, and 
effectually prevented his annoying the young lady, upon whom he 
had seemed bent upon conferring the delights of Ins society. 

It Peter had immediately recognized his counsel learned in the 
law, it is probable that not even the benevolent efforts of the Quaker 
could have kept him in a state of restraint; but Fairford’s back was 
turned toward his client, whose optics, besides being somewhat 
dazzled with ale and brandy, were speedily engaged in contemplat- 
ing a half crown which Joshua held between his f\nger and his 
thumb, saying, at the same time, ‘‘Friend, thou art indigent and 
improvident. This will, well employed, procure thee suslentation 
of nature for more than a single day; and I will bestow it on thee 
if thou wilt sit here and keep me company; for neither thou nor 1, 
friend, are fit company for ladies.” 

‘‘ Speak for yourself, friend,” said Peter, scornfully; *‘ 1 w r as aye 
kend to be agreeable to the fair sex; and when 1 was in business 1 
served the ladies wi’ another sort of decorum than Plainslanes, the 
d — d awkw r ard scoundrel! It was one of the articles of dittay be- 
tween us.” 

“ Well, but, friend,” said the Quaker, who observed that the 
young lady seemed to fear Peter’s intrusion, “ 1 wish lo hear thee 
speak about this great lawsuit of thine, which has been matter of 
such celebrity.” 

14 Celebrity! Ye may swear that,” said Peter, for the string was 
touched to which his crazy imagination always vibrated. “ Aud 1 
dinna wonder that folk that judge things by their outw T ard grandeur, 
should Ihiuk me something worth their envying. It’s very true 
that it is grandeur upon earth to hear ane’s name thunnered out 
along the long arched root of the Outer House—* Poor Peter 
Peebles against Plainstanes, et per centra ,’ a’ the best lawyers in 
the house fleeing like eagles to the prey; some because they are in 
the cause, and some because they want to be thought engaged (for 
there are tricks in other trades by selling muslins)— to see the re- 
porters mending their pens to take down the debate — the lords them- 
selves pooin’ in their chairs, like folk sitting down to agude dinner, 
and crying on the clerks for parts and pendicles of the process, who, . 
puir bodies, can do little mair than cry on ther closet- keepers to 
help them. To see a’ this,” continued Peter, in a tone of sustained 
rapture, ‘‘ and to ken that naething will be said or dune among a’ 
tliae grand folk, for may be the feck of three hours, saving what 
concerns you and your business. Oh, man, nae w’ouder that ye 
judge this to be earthly glorv! And yet, neighbor, as 1 was saying, 
there be unco drawbacks — 1 whiles think of my bit house, where 
dinner, supper, and breakfast, used to come without the crying tor, 
just as if fairies had brought it— and the gude bed at e’en— and the 


REDGAUNTLET. 


322 

needfu’ penny in the pouch. And then to see a’ ane’s warldly sub- 
stance capering in the air in a pair of weigh- bauks, now up. now 
down, as the breath of judge or counsel inclines it for pursuer or 
defender— troth, man, there are times 1 rue having ever begun the 
plea wark, though, maybe, when ye consider the renown and credit 
I have by it, ye will hardly believe what 1 am saying.” 

“ Indeed, friend,” said Joshua, with a sigh, “ 1 am glad thou 
hast found anything in the legal contention which compensates thee 
for poverty and hunger; but 1 believe, were other human objects of 
ambition looked upon as closely, their advantages would be found 
as chimerical as those attending thy protracted litigation.” 

‘‘But never mind, friend,” said Peter; “I’ll tell you the exact 
state of the conjunct processes, and make you sensible that 1 can 
bring myself round with a wet finger, now I have my finger and my 
thumb bn this loup the-dike loon, the lad Fairtord.” 

Alan Fairtord was in the act of speaking to the masked lady (for 
Miss Redgauntlet had retained her riding vizard), endeavoring to 
assure her, as he perceived her anxiety, of such protection as he 
could afford, when his own name, pronounced in a loud tone, 
attracted his attention. He looked round, and seeing Peter Peebles, 
as hastily turned to avoid his notice, in which he succeeded, so ear- 
nest was Peter upon his colloquy with one of the most respectable 
auditors whose attention he had ever been able to engage. And 
by this little motion, momentary as it was, Alan gained an unex- 
pected advantage; for, while he looked round, Miss Lilias, I could 
never ascertain why, took the moment to adjust her mask, and did 
it so awkwardly, that when her companion again turned liis head, 
he recognized as much of her features as authorized him to address 
her as his fair client, and to press his offers of protection and assist- 
ance with the boldness of a former acquaintance. 

Lilias Redgauntlet withdrew the mask from her crimsoned cheek. 
“ Mr. Fairtord,” she said, in a voice almost inaudible, “ you have 
the character of a young gentleman of sense and generosity; but we 
have already met in one situation which you must think singular; 
and 1 must be exposed to misconstruction, at least, for my forward- 
ness, were it not in a cause in which my dearest affections were con- 
cerned.” 

“ Any interest in my beloved friend Darsie Latimer,” said Fair- 
ford, stepping a little back, and putting a marked restraint upon his 
former advances, “ gives me a double right to be useful to — ” He 
stopped short. 

“ To his sister, your goodness would say,” answered Lilias. 

“ His sister, madam,” replied Alan, in the extremity of astonish- 
ment. “ Sister, I presume, in affection, only?” 

“No, sir; my dear brother Darsie and 1 are connected by the 
bonds of actual relationship; and 1 am not sorry to be the first to 
tell this to the friend he most values.” 

Fairford’s first thought was on the violent passion which Darsie 
had expressed toward the fair unknown. ‘‘Good God!” he ex- 
claimed, “how did he bear the discovery V 

“ With resignation, 1 hope,” said Lilias, smiling. “ A more ac- 
complished sister lie might easily have come by, but scarcely could 
have found one who could love him more than 1 do.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


323 


“ I meant — I only meant to say,” said the yonng counselor, his 
presence of mind failing him for an instant — “ that is, 1 meant to 
ask where Darsie Latimer is at this moment.” 

‘‘In i his very house, and under the guardianship of his uncle, 
whom I believe you knew as a visitor of your father, under the 
name of Mr. Berries of Birrenswork.” 

“Let me hasten to him,” said Fairford; ”1 have sought him 
through difficulties and dangers—], must see him instantly.” 

*‘ You forget you are a prisoner,” said the young lady. 

” True — true; but 1 can not be long detained — the cause alleged 
is too ridiculous.” 

** Alas!” said Lilias, “ our fate — my brother’s and mine, at least- 
must turn on the deliberations perhaps of less than an hour. For 
you, sir, 1 believe and apprehend nothing but some restraint; my 
uncle is neither cruel nor unjust, though few will go further in the 
cause which he has adopted.” 

“ Which is that of the Pretend — ” 

‘‘ For God’s sake speak lower!” said Lilias, approaching her hand 
as if to stop him. “ The word may cost you your life. You do 
not know — indeed, you do not — the terrors of the situation in which 
we at present stand, and in which 1 fear you also are involved by 
your friendship for my brother.” 

“ ] did not, indeed, know the particulars of our situation,” said 
Fairford; ‘‘ but, be the danger what it may, 1 shall not orrudge my 
share of it for the sake of my friend; or,” he added, with more 
timidity, “otmf friend ’s sister. Let me hope,” he said, my dear 
Miss Latimer, that my presence may be of some use to you; and 
that it may be so, let me entreat a share of jmur confidence, which 
1 am conscious I have otherwise no right to ask.” 

He led her, as he spoke, toward the recess of the further window 
of the room, and observing to her that, unhappily, he was particu- 
larly exposed to interruption from the mad old man whose entrance 
had alarmed her, he disposed of Darsie Latimer’s riding-skirt, which 
had been left in the apartment, over the back of two chairs, form- 
ing thus a sort of screen, behind which he ensconced himself with 
the maiden of the green mantle; feeling at the moment, that the 
danger in which he was placed was almost compensated by the in- 
telligence which permitted those feelings toward her to revive, which 
justice to his friend had induced him to stifle in the birth. 

The relative situaiion of adviser and advised, of protector and pro- 
tected, is so peculiarly suited to the respective condition of man and 
woman, that great progress toward intimacy is often made in very 
short space; for the circumstances call for confidence on the part of 
the gentleman and forbid coyness on that of the lady, so that the 
usual barriers against easy intercourse are at once thrown down. 

Under these circumstances, securing themselves as far as possible 
from observation, conversing in whispers, and seated in a corner 
where they w'ere brought into so close contact that their faces nearly 
touched each other, Fairford heard from Lilias Redgauntlet the his- 
tory of her family, particularly of her uncle; his views upon her 
brother, and the agony which she felt, lest at that very moment he 
might succeed in engaging Darsie in some desperate scheme, fatal 
tc his fortune, and perhaps to his life. 


324 


REDGAUNTLET. 


Alan Fairford’s acute understanding instantly connected what he 
had heard with the circumstances he had witnessed at Fairladies. 
U is first thought was to attempt, at all risks, his instant escape, and 
procure assistance powerful enough to crush, in the very cradle, a 
conspiracy of such a determined character. This he did not con- 
sider as difficult; for, though the door was guarded on the outside, 
the window, which was not above ten feet from the ground, was 
open for escape, the common on which it looked was uninclosed, 
and profusely covered with furze. There would, he thought, be 
little difficulty in effecting his liberty, and in concealing his course 
after he had gained it. 

But Lilias exclaimed against this scheme. Her uncle, she said, 
was a man, who, in his moments of enthusiasm, knew neither re- 
morse nor tear. He was capable of visiting upon Darsie any injury 
which he might conceive Fairford had rendered him — he was her 
near kinsman also, and not an unkind one, and she deprecated any 
effort, even in her brother’s favor, by which his life must be exposed 
to danger. Fairford himself remembered Father Buonaventure, 
and made little question but that he was one of the sons of the old 
Chevalier de Saint George; and with feelings which, although con- 
tradictory of his public duty, can hardly be much censured, his heart 
recoiled from being the agent by whom the last scion of such a long 
line of Scottish princes should be rooted up. Be then thought of 
obtaining an audience, it possible, of this devoted person, and ex- 
plaining to him the utter hopelessness of his undertaking, which he 
judged it likely that the ardor of his partisans might have concealed 
from him. But he relinquished this design as soon as formed. He 
had no doubt that any light which he could throw on the state of 
the country would come too late to be serviceable to one who was 
always reported to have his own full share of the hereditary 
obstinacy which had cost his ancestors so dear, and who, in draw- 
ing the sword, must have thrown from him the scaobard. 


Lilias suggested the advice which, of all others, seemed most suited 
to the occasion, that, yielding, namely, to the circumstances of their 
situation, they should watch carefully when Darsie should obtain 
any degree of freedom, and endeavor to open a communication 
with him, in which case their joint flight might be effected, and 
without endangering the safety of any one. 

Their youthful deliberation had nearly fixed in this point, when 
Fairford, who was listening to the low swmet whispering tones of 
Lilias Redgauntlet, rendered yet more interesting by some slight 
touch of foreign accent, was startled by a heavy hand which de- 
scended with full weight on his shoulder, while the discordant voice 
of Peter Peebles, who had at length broke loose from the well-mean- 
ing Quaker, exclaimed in the ear of his truant counsel— “ Aha, lad! 
think ye are catchedV An’ so ye are turned chamber-counsel, are 
ye? And ye have drawn up wi’ clients in scarfs and hoods? But 
bide a wee, billie, and see if I dinna sort ye wdien my petition and 
complaint comes to be discussed wrth or without answers, under 
certification.” 

Alan Fairford had never more difficulty in his life to subdue a 
first emotion, than he had to refrain from knocking down the crazy 
blockhead who had broken in upon him at such a moment. But 


REDGAUNTLET. 


325 

the length of Peter’s address gave him time, fortunately, perhaps, 
for both parties, to reflect on the extreme irregularity of such a pro- 
ceeding. He stood silent, however, with vexation, while Peter went 
on: 

“ Weel, my bonnie man, 1 see ye are thinkin’ shame o’ yoursell, 
and nae great wonder. Ye maun leave this quean— tbe like of her 
is ower light company for you. 1 have heard honest Mr. Pest say, 
that the gown grees ill wi’ the petticoat. But come awa hame to 
your puir father, and I’ll take care of you the haill gate, and keep 
you company, and deil a word we will speak about but just the 
state of the conjoined processes of the great cause of Poor Peter 
Peebles against Plainstanes.” 

“ It thou canst endure to hear as much of that suit, friend,” said 
the Quaker, “ as 1 have heard out of mere compassion for thee, I 
think verily thou wilt soon be at the bottom of the matter, unless it 
be altogether bottomless.” 

Fairford shook off, rather indignantly, the large bony hand which 
Peter had imposed upon his shoulder, and was about to say some- 
thing peevish, upon so unpleasant and insolent a mode of interrup- 
tion, when the door opened, a treble voice saying to the sentinel, 
” 1 tell you I maun be in, to see if Mr. Nixon’s here;” and little 
Benjie thrust in his mop head and keen black eyes. Ere he could 
withdraw it, Peter Peebles sprung to the door, seized on the boy by 
the collar, and dragged him forward into the room. 

'* Let me see,” he said, 44 ye ne’er-do-weel limb of Satan— I’ll gar 
ye satisfy the production, I trow— I’ll hae first and second diligence 
against you, ye deevil’s buckle!” 

“What dost thou wanl?” said the Quaker, interfering; “why 
dost thou frighten the boy, Friend Peebles?” 

“ I gave the bastard a penny to buy me snuff,” said the pauper, 
“ and he has rendered no account of his intromissions; but I’ll gar 
him as gude.” 

So saying, he proceeded forcibly to rifle the pockets of Benjie’s 
ragged jacket of one or two snares for game, marbles, a half-bitten 
apple, two stolen eggs (one of which Peter broke in the eagerness 
of his research), and various other unconsidered trifles, which had 
not the air of being very honestly come by. The lit tie rascal, under 
this discipline, bit and struggled like a foxcomb, but like that 
vermin uttered neither cry nor complaint, till a note, which Peter 
tore from his bosom, flew as far as Lilias Redgauntlet, and fell at 
her feet. It was addressed to C. N. 

“ It is for the villain Nixon,” she said to Alan Fairford; “ open 
it without scruple; that boy is his emissary; we shall now see what 
the miscreant is driving at.” 

Little Benjie now gave up all further struggle, and suffered Peebles 
to take from him, without resistance, a shilling, out of which Peter 
declared he would pay himself principal and interest, and account 
for the balance. The boy whose attention seemed fixed on some- 
thing very different, only said, “ Maister Nixon will murder me!” 

Alan Fairford did not hesitate to read the little scrap of paper, on 
which was written, “ All is prepared — keep them in play until 1 
come up. You may depend on your reward — C. C.” 

“ Alas, my uncle— my poor uncle!” said Lilias; “ this is the re- 


326 


REDGAUNTLET. 


suit, of his confidence. Methinks to give him instant notice of his 
confidant’s treachery is now the best service we can render all con- 
cerned— it they break up their undertaking, as they must now do, 
Darsie will be at liberty.” 

In the same breath, they were both at the half -opened door of the 
room, Fairford entreating to 3peak with the Father Bnonaventure, 
and Lilias, equally vehemently, requesting a moment’s interview 
with her uncle. While the sentinel hesitated what to do, his atten- 
tion was called to a loud noise at the door, where a crowd had been 
assembled in consequence of the appalling cry, that the enemy were 
upon them, occasioned, as it afterward proved, by some stragglers 
having at length discovered the dead bodies of Nanty Ewart and of 
Nixon. 

Amid the confusion occasioned by this alarming incident, the 
sentinel ceased to attend to his duty; and accepting Alan Fail ford’s 
arm, Lilias found no opposition in penetrating even to the inner 
apartment, where the principal persons in the enterprise, whose con- 
clave had been disturbed by this alarming incident, were now as- 
sembled in great confusion, and had been^ joined by the Chevalier 
himself. 

“ Only a mutiny among these smuggling scoundrels,” said Red- 
gauntlet. 

“ Only a mutiny, do you say?” said Sir Richard Glendale; “ and 
the lugger, the last hope of escape for” — he looked toward Charles — 
“ stands out to sea under a press of sail!” 

‘‘Do not concern yourself about me,” said the unfortunate 
prince; ‘ this is not the worst emergency in which it has been my 
lot to stand; and if it were, I fear it not/ Shift for yourselves, my 
lord ana gentlemen!” 

“ No, never!” said the young Lord . “ Our only hope now 

is an honorable resistance.” 

‘‘Most true,” said Redgauntlet; “let despair renew the union 
amongst us which accident disturbed. 1 give my voice for display- 
ing the royal banner instantly, and— How now?” he concluded 
sternly, as Lilias, first soliciting his attention by pulling his cloak, 
put into his hand the scroll, and added, it was designed for that of 
Nixon. 

Redgauntlet read— and, dropping it on the ground, continued to 
stare upon the spot where it fell, with raised hands and fixed eyes. 
Sir Richard Glendale lifted the fatal paper, read it, and saying, 
“ Now all is indeed over,” handed it to Maxwell, who said aloud, 
“ Black Colin Campbell, by G— d! I heard he had come post from 
London last night!” 

As if in echo of his thoughts, the violin of the blind man was 
heaul, playing with spirit, “ The Campbells are Coming,” a cele- 
brated clan-march. 

“ The Campbells are coming in earnest,” said MacKellar ; ‘ they 
are upon us with the whole battalions from Carlisle.” 

There was a silence of dismay, and two or three of the company 
began to drop out of the room. 

Lord spoke with the generous spirit of a young English no- 

bleman. “If we have been fools, do not let us be cowards. We 


REDGAUNTLET. 327 

have one here more precious than us all, and come hither on our 
warranty— let us save him at least.” 

“ True, most true,” answered Sir Richard Glendale. “ Let the 
king be first cared tor.” 

“ That shall be my business,” said Redgauntlet; “ if we have but 
time to bring back the brig, all will be well — I will instantly dis- 
patch a party in a fishing-skiff to bring her to.” He gave his com- 
mands to two or three ot the most active of his followers. ** Let 
him be once on board,” he said, ‘‘ and there are enough of us to 
stand to arms and cover his retreat.” 

‘‘Right, right,” said Sir Richard, “and I will look to points 
which can be made defensible; and the old powder-plot boys could 
not have made a more desperate resistance than we shall. Red- 
gauntlet,” continued he, ”1 see some of our frends are looking 
pale; but metliiuks your nephew has more metal in his eye now 
than when we were in cold deliberation, with danger ,at a distance.” 

“It is the way of oui house,” said Redgauntlet;*” our courage 
ever kindles highest on the losing side. 1, too, feel that the catas- 
trophe I have brought on must not be survived by its author. Let 
me fiist,” he said, addressing Charles, “ see your majesty’s sacred 
ptrson in such safety as can now be provided for it, and then — ” 

‘‘ You may spare all considerations concerning me, gentlemen,” 
again repeated Charles; “ yon mountain of Criffel shall fly as soon 
as I will.” 

Most threw themselves at his feet with weeping and entreaty; 
some one or two slunk in confusion from the apartment, and were 
heard riding off. Unnoticed in such a scene, Darsie, his sister, and 
Fairford drew together, and held each other by the hands, as those 
who, when a vessel is about to founder in the storm, determine to 
take their chance ot life and death together. 

Amid this scene ot confusion, a gentleman, plainly dressed in a 
riding-habit, with a black cockade in his hat, but without any arms 
except a couteau de chasse, walked into the apartment without cers- 
mony. He was a tall, thin, gentlemanly man, with a look and 
bearing decidedly military. He had passed Through their guards, 
if in the confusion they now maintained any, without stop or ques- 
tion, and now stood, almost unarmed, among armed men, who 
nevertheless gazed on him as Dn the angel ot destruction. 

“You look coldly on me, gentlemen,” he said. ‘‘ Sir Richard 

Glendale- my Lord , we were not always such strangers. Ha, 

Pate-in-Peril, how is it with you? and yoiftoo, ingoldsby— I must 
not call you by any other name— why do you receive an old friend 
so coldly? But you guess my errand.” 

“ And are prepared tfi\~ it.. general,” said Redgauntlet, ” we are 
not men to be penned up Tike sheep for slaughter.” 

“ Pshaw, you take it too seriously— let me speak but one word 
with you.” 

“ Ko words can shake our purpose,” said Redgauntlet, ‘‘were 
your whole command, as 1 suppose is the case, drawn round the 
house.” 

“ 1 am certainly not unsupported,” said the general; “ but if you 
would hear me—” 

“ Hear me, sir,” said the Wanderer, stepping forward; ” I sup- 


REDGAUNTLET. 


328 

pose 1 am the mark you aim at — 1 surrender myself willingly, to 
save these gentlemen’s danger — let this at least avail in their favor.” 

A n exclamation ot ” Never! never!” broke from the little body 
of partisans, who threw themselves round the unfortunate prince, 
and would have seized or struck down Campbell, had it not been 
that he remained with his arms folded, and a look rather indicating 
impatience because they would not hear him, than the least ap- 
prehension of violence at their hand. 

At length he obtained a moment’s silence. 

”1 do not,” he said, ” know this gentleman ’’—(making a pro- 
found bow to the unfortunate prince) — “ 1 do not wish to know 
him; it is a knowledge which would suit neither of us.” 

‘‘Our ancestors, nevertheless, have been well acquainted,” said 
Charles, unable to suppress, even at that hour of dread and danger, 
the painful recollections of fallen royally. 

“ In one woid, General Campbell,” said Redgauntlet, “ is it to 
be peace or war? You are a man of honor, and we can trust you.” 

1 thank you, sir,” said the general; “ and 1 reply that the an- 
swer to your q uestion rests with yourself. Come, do not befools, 
gentlemen; there was perhaps no great harm meant or intended by 
your gathering together in this obscure corner for a bear-bait or a 
cock-tight, or whatever other amusement you may have intended, 
but it was a little imprudent, considering how you stand with gov- 
ernmenl, and it has occasioned some anxiety. Exaggerated ac- 
counts of your purpose have been laid before government by the 
information of a traitor in your own councils, and 1 was sent down 
post to take the command of a sufficient number of troops, in case 
these calumnies should be found to have any real foundation. I 
have come here, of course, sufficiently supported both with cavalry 
and infantry, to do whatever might be necessary; but my com- 
mands are — and 1 am sure they agree with my inclination —to make 
no arrests, nay, to make no further inquiries of any kind, if this 
good assembly will consider their own interest so far as to give up 
their immediate purpose, and return quietly home to their own 
houses.” 

“ What!— all?” exclaimed Sir Richard Glendale— “ all, without 
exception?” 

’’All, without one single exception,” said the general, ‘‘such 
are my orders. If you accept my terms, say so, and make haste; 
for things may happen to interfere with his majesty’s kind pur- 
poses toward you all.” 

” His majesty’s kind purposes!” said the Wanderer. “ Do 1 hear 
ycu aright, sir?” 

“ 1 spcals the king’s very words, -from 'a)& very lips,” replied the 
general. ‘ ‘1 will,’ said his majesty, ‘deserve the confidence of 
my subjects by reposing my security in the fidelity of the millions 
who acknowledge my title — in the good sense and prudence of the 
few who continue, from the errors of education, to disown it.’ His 
majesty will not even believe that the most zealous Jacobites who 
yet remain can nourish a thought ot exciting a civil war, which 
must be fatal to their families and themselves besides spreading 
bloodshed and ruin through a peaceful land. He can not even be- 
lieve of his kinsman that he would engage brave and generous, 


REDGAUNTLET. 


329 

though mistaken men, in an attempt which must ruin all who have 
escaped tormer calamities; and he is convinced that, did curiosity 
or any other motive lead that person to visit this country, he would 
soon see it was his wisest course to return to the Continent; and his 
majesty compassionates his situation too much to offer any obstacle 
to his doing so.” 

“ Is this real?” said Redgauntlet. “Can you mean this? Am 
1— are all, aie any of these gentlemen at liberty, without interrup- 
tion, to embark in vonder brig, which, 1 see, is now again ap- 
proaching the shore?’’ 

“ You, sir — all— any of the gentlemen present,” said the general 
— “ all whom the vessel can contain, are at liberty to embark unin- 
terrupted by me;. but I advise none to go off who have no powerful 
reasons unconnected with the present meeting, lor this will be re- 
membered against no one. ” 

“Then, gentlemen,” said Redgauntlet, clasping his hands to- 
gether, as the words burst from him, “ the cause is lost forever!” 

General Campbell turned aivay to the window, as if to avoid 
hearing what tLey said. Their consultation was but momentary, 
for the door of escape which thus opened was as unexpected as the 
exigence was threatening. 

“We have your word of honor for our protection,” said Sir 
Richard Glendale, “ if we dissolve our meeting in obedience to your 
summons?” 

“You have, Sir Richard,” answered the general. 

“ And 1 also have your promise,” said Redgauntlet, “ that 1 may 
go on board yonder vessel with any friend whom 1 may choose to 
accompany me?” 

“Not only that, Mr. Ingoldsby — or 1 will call you Mr. Red- 
gauntlet once more— you may stay in the offing for a tide, until you 
are joined by any person who may remain at Fairladies. After that 
there will be a sloop of war on the station, and 1 need not say your 
condition will then become perilous.” 

“ Perilous it should not be, General Campbell,” said Redgaunt- 
let, “ or more perilous to others than to us, if others thought as I 
do even in this extremity.” 

“ You forget yourself, my friend,” said the unhappy Adventurer; 
“ you forget that the arrival of this gentleman only puts the cope- 
stone on our already adopted resolution to abandon our bull -fight, 
or by whatever other wild name this headlong enterprise may be 
termed. 1 bid you farewell, unfriendly friends — 1 bid you fare- 
well ” (bowing to the general), “ my friendly foe — 1 leave this 
strand as 1 landed upon it, alone and to return no more!” 

“Not alone,” said Redgauntlet, “while there is blood in the 
veins of my father’s son.” 

“ Not alone,” said the other gentlemen present, stung with feel- 
ings which almost overpowered the better reason under which they 
had acted. “ We will not disown our principles, or see your person 
endangered.” 

“ If it be only your purpose to see the gentleman to the beach,” 
said General Campbell, “ 1 will myself go with you. My presence 
among you, unarmed, and in your power, will be a pledge of my 


330 


REDGAUNTLET. 


friendly intentions, and will overawe, should such be offered, any 
interruption on the part of officious persons.” 

“ Be it so,” said the Adventurer, with the air of a prince to a sub- 
ject; not of one who complied with the request of an enemy too 
powerful to be resisted. 

They left tne apartment — they left the house — an unauthenticated 
and dubious, but appalling sensation of terror had already spread 
itself among the inferior retainers, who had so short a time before 
strutted, and bustled, and thronged the doorway and the passages. 
A report had arisen, of which the origin could not be traced, of 
tioops advancing toward the spot in considerable numbers; and 
men who, for one reason or other, were most of them amenable to 
the arm of power, had either shiunk into stables or corners, or fled 
the place entirely. There was solitude on the landscape excepting 
the small party which now moved toward the rude pier, where a 
boat lay manned, agreeably to Redgauntlet’s orders previously given. 

The last heir of the Stuarts leaned on Redgauntlet’s arm as they 
walked toward the beach; for the ground was rough, and he no 
longer possessed the elasticity of limb and of spirit which had, 
twenty years before, carried him over many a Highland hill, as light 
as one of their native deer. His adherents followed, looking on the 
ground, their feelings struggling against the dictates of their reason. 

General Campbell accompanied them with an air of apparent ease 
and indifference, but watching, at the same time, and no doubt with 
some anxiety, the changing features of those who acted in this ex- 
traordinary scene. 

Darsie and his sister naturally followed their uncle, whose violence 
they no longer feared, while his character attracted their respect, 
and Alan Fairtord attended them from interest in their fate, un- 
noticed in a party where all were too much occupied with their 
own thoughts and feelings, as well as with the impending crisis, to 
attend to his presence. 

Half way betwixt the house and the beach, they saw the bodies of 
Nanty Ewart and Cristal Nixon blackening in the sun. 

‘‘That was your informer?” said Redgauntlet, looking back tu 
General Campbell, who only nodded his assent. 

“Caitiff wretch!” exclaimed Redgauntlet; — “and yet the name 
were better bestowed on the fool who could be misled by thee.” 

“ That sound broadsword cut,” said the general, “ has saved us 
the shame of rewarding a traitor.” 

They arrived at the place of embarkation. The prince stood a 
moment with folded arms, and looked around him in deep silence. 
A paper was then slipped into his hands — he looked at it, and said, 
“ 1 find the two friends 1 have left at Fairladies are appriseii of my 
destination, and propose to embark from Bowmess. 1 presume this 
will not be an infringement of the conditions under which you have 
acted?” 

“ Certainly not,” answered General Campbell; “ they shall have 
all facility to join you.” 

“1 wish, then,” said Charles, “ only another companion. Red- 
gauntlet, the air of this country is as hostile to you as it is to me. 
These gentlemen have made their peace, or rather they have done 
nothing to break it. But you— come you and share my house where 


REDGAUNTLET. 331 

chance shall cast it. We shall never see these shores again; but we 
will talk of them, and of our disconcerted bull-fight.” 

“ 1 follow you, Sire, through life,” said Redgauntlet, “ as I would 
have followed you to death. Permit me one moment.” 

The prince then looked round, and seeing the abashed counl e- 
nances of his other adherents bent upon the ground, he hastened to 
say, “ Do not think that you, gentlemen, have obliged me less, be- 
cause your zeal was mingled with prudence, entertained, 1 am sure, 
more on my account, and on that of your country, than from selfish 
apprehensions.” 

He stepped from one to another, and, amid sobs and bursting 
tears, received the adieus of the last remnant which had hitherto 
supported his lofty pretensions, and addressed them individually 
with accents of tenderness and affection. 

The general drew a little aloof, and signed to Redgauntlet to 
speak with him while this scene proceeded. “ It is pow all over,” 
he said, “and Jacobite will be henceforward no longer a party 
name. When you tire of foreign parts, and wish to make your 
peace, let me know. Youi restless zeal alone has impeded your 
pardon hitherto.” 

“And now I shall not need it,” said Redgauntlet. “I leave 
England forever; but I am not displeased that you should hear my 
family adieus. Nephew, come hither. In presence of General 
Campbell, 1 tell you, that though to breed you up in my own polit- 
ical opinions has been for many years my anxious wish, 1 am now 
glad that it could not be accomplished. You pass under the service 
of the reigning monarch without the necessity of changing your 
allegiance — a change, however,” he added, looking around him, 
“ which sits more easy on honorable men than 1 could have antici- 
pated, but some wear the badge of their loyalty on llieir sleeve, 
and others in the heart. You will from henceforth be uncontrolled 
master of all the property of which forfeiture could not deprive 
your father— of all that belong d to him— excepting this, his good 
sword ” (laying his hand on the weapon he wore), “ which shall 
never fight tor the House of Hanover;* and as my hand will never 
draw weapon more, I shall sink it forty fathoms deep in the wide 
ocean. Bless you, young man! If 1 have dealt harshly with you, 
forgive me. 1 had set my whole desires on one point— God knows, 
with no selfish purpose; and 1 am justly punished by this final 
termination of my views, for having been too little scrupulous in 
the means by which 1 pursued them. Niece, farewell, and may 
God bless you also!” 

“No, sir,” said Lilias, seizing his hand eagerly. “ l r ou have 
been hitherto my protector— you are now in sorrow, let me be your 
attendant and your comforter in exile. ” 

“ l thank you, my girl, for your unmerited affection; but it can 
not and must not be. The curtain here falls between us. I go to 
the house of another. If I leave it before 1 quit the earth, it shall 
be only for the House of God. Once more, farewell both! The 
fatal doom,” he said, with a melancholy smile, “will, I trust, now 
depart from the House of Redgauntlet, since its present representa- 
tive has adhered to the winning side. 1 am convinced he will not 
change it, should it in turn become the losing one.” 


REDGAUNTLET. 


332 

The unfortunate Charles Edward had now given his last adieus 
to his downcast adherents. He made a sign with his hand to Red- 
gauntlet, who came to assist him into the skiff. General Campbell 
also offered his assistance, the rest appearing too much affected ba- 
ttle scene which had taken place to prevent him. 

“ You are not sorry, general, to do me this last act of courtesy/’ 
said the Chevalier; “ and on my part 1 thank you for it. You have 
taught me the principle on which men on the scaffold feel forgive- 
ness and kindness even for their executioner. Farewell!” 

They were seated in the boat, which presently pulled off from 
the land. The Oxford divine broke out into a loud benediction in 
terms which General Campbell was too generous to criticise at the 
time, or to remember afterward;— nay, it is said that, Whig and 
Campbell as he was, he could not help joining in the universal 
Amen! which resounded from the shore. 

CONCLUSION, BY DR. DR1ASDUST, 

IN A LETTER TO THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY. 

1 am truly sorry, my worthy and much respected sir, that my 
anxious researches have neither, in the form of letters, nor of 
diaries, or other memoranda, been able to discover more than I 
have hitherto transmitted, of the history of the Redgauntlet family. 
But 1 observe in an old newspaper, called the “ Whitehall Gazette,” 
of which l fortunately possess a file for several years, that Sir Arthur 
Darsie Redgauntlet was presented to his late Majesty at the drawing- 
room, by Lieut. General Campbell— upon which the Editor ob- 
serves, in the way of comment, that we were going, remis atque 
velis, into the interests of the Pretender, since a Scot had presented 
a Jacobite at court. 1 am sorry I have not room (the frank being 
only uncial) for his further observations, tending to show the appre- 
hensions entertained by many well-instructed persons of the period, 
that the young king might himself be induced to become one of the 
Stuarts’ faction— a catastrophe from which it has pleased Heaven to 
preserve these kingdoms. 

I perceive also, by a marriage contract in the family repositories, 
that Miss Lilias Redgauntlet of Redgauntlet, about eighteen months 
after the transactions you have commemorated, intermarried with 
Alan Fairford, Esq., Advocate, of Clinkdollar, whom, 1 think, we 
may not unreasonably conclude to be the same person whose name 
occurs so frequently in the pages of your narration. In my last 
excursion to Edinburgh, 1 was fortunate enough to discover an old 
caddie, lrom whom at the expense of a bottle of whisky, and half 
a pound of tobacco, I extracted the important information, that he 
knew Peter Peebles very well, and had drunk many a mutchkin 
with him in Caddie Fraser's time. He said that he lived ten years 
after King George’s accession, in the momentary expectation of 
winning his cause every day in the Session tin e, and every hour in 
the day, and at last fell down dead, in what my informer called a 
‘‘ Perplexity fit,” upon a proposal for a composition being made to 
him in the Outer House. 1 have chosen to retain my informer’s 
phrase, not being able justly to determine whether it is a corruption 
of the word apoplexy, as my friend Mr. Oldbuck supposes, or the 


EEDGAUNTLET. 


333 

name of some peculiar disorder incidental to those who have concern 
in the Courts ot Law, as many callings and conditions of men have 
diseases appropriate to themselves. 

The same caddie also remembered Blind VV illie Stevenson, who was 
called Wandering Willie, and who ended his days “ uncobeinly, in 
Sir Arthur Redgaunllet’s ha’ neuk.” “ He had done the family some 
good turn,” he said, “ specially when ane ot the Argyle gentlemen 
was coming down on a wheen ot them that had the ‘ auld leaven ’ 
about them, and wad liae taen every man ot them, and nae less nor 
headed and hanged them. But Willie, and a friend they had, culled 
Robin the Rambler, gae them warning, by playing tunes such as 
‘ The Campbells are Coming,’ and the like, whereby they got timeous 
warning to take the wing.” 1 need not point out to your acuteness, 
my worthy sir, that this seems to refer to some inaccurate account 
of the transactions in which you seem so much interested. 

Respecting Redgauntlet, about whose subsequent history you are 
more particularly inquisitive, I have learned from an excellent per- 
son who was a priest in the Scottish Monastery of Ratisbon, before 
its suppression, that he remained for two or three years in the fam- 
ll v of the Chevalier, and only left it at last in consequence of some 
discords in that melancholy household. As he had hinted to Gen- 
eral Campbell, he exchanged his residence for the cloister, and dis- 
played iu the latter part ol his life a strong sense ot the duties of 
religiou, which in his earlier days he had too much neglected, being 
altogether engaged in political speculations and intrigues. He rose 
to the situation ot prior in the house which he belonged to, and 
which was of a very strict order ol religion. He sometimes received 
his countrymen, whom accident brought to Ratisbon, and curiosity 

induced to visit the Monastery of . But. it was remarked, that 

though he listened with interest and attention, when Britain, or 
particularly Scotland, became the subject of conversation, yet he 
never either introduced or prolonged the subject, never used the 
English language, never inquired about English affairs, and, above 
all, never mentioned his own family. His strict observation of the 
rules of his order gave him, at the time of his death, some preten- 
sions to be chosen a saint, and the brethren of the Monastery of 

made great efforts for that effect, and brought forward some plausi- 
ble proofs of miracles. But there was a circumstance which threw 
a doubt over the subject, aEd prevented the consistory from acceding 
to the wishes ot the worthy brethren Under his habit, and secured 
in a small silver box, he had worn perpetually around his neck a 
lock of hair, which the fathers avouched to be a relic. But the 
Avvocato del Diavolo, in combating (as was his official duly) the pre- 
tensions of the candidate for sanctity, made it at least equally prob- 
able that the supposed relic was taken from the head of a brother 
of the deceased prior, who had been executed for adherence to the 
Stuart family in 1745-6; and the motto, Hand obhviscendum , seemed 
to intimate a tone of mundane feeling and recollection of injuries 
which made it at least doubtful wlieiher, even in the quiet and 
gloom of the cloister, Father Hugo had forgotten the sufferings and 
injuries of the House of Redgauntlet. 

30M June , 1834. 


THE END. 


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183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 


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184 Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris. 20 

185 Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 

jendie 10 

186 The Canon’s Ward. By James 

Payn 20 

187 The Midnight Sun. By Fredrika 

Bremer 10 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate. Mrs. Alexander 5 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 

the author of “Dora Thorne” 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

L ever 15 

192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

Warden 10 

193 The Rosary Folk. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far 1” By 

Alison 10 

196 “ The Way of the World.” By 

David Christie Murray 15 

196 Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil 

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197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

199 The Fisher Village. By Anne 

Beale 10 

200 An Old Man’s Love. By An- 

thony Trollope 10 

201 The Monastery. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

202 The Abbot. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

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204 Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon 15 

205 The Minister’s Wife. By Mrs. 

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206 The Picture, and Jack of All 

Trades. By Charles Reade. . 10 

207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M. 

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208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories. By Flor- 
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209 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 10 

210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 

rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10 

211 The Octoroon. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 10 

212 Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dra- 

goon. By Chas. Lever (Com- 
plete in one volume) 30 

213 A Terrible Temptation. Chas. 

Reade. 15 

214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 

Charles Reade 20 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 15 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 15 

217 The Man She Cared For. By 

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218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 15 

219 Lady Clare ; or, The Master of 

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220 Which Loved Him Best? By 

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221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye. By 

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222 The Sun-Maid. By Miss Grant 15 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart. By W. 

Clark Russell 15 

224 The Arundel Motto. Mary Cecil 

Hay 15 

225 The Giant’s Robe. ByF. Anstey 15 

226 Friendship. By “ Ouida ” 20 

227 Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton. 15 

228 Princess Napraxine. By “ Oui- 

da” 20 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

230 Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

Besant 15 

231 Griffith Gaunt. Charles Reade 15 

232 Love and Money ; or, A Perilous 

Secret. By Charles Reade. . . 10 

233 “ I Say No or, the Love-Letter 

Answered. Wilkie Collins. ... 15 

234 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery. 

Miss M. E. Braddon 15 

235 “ It is Never Too Late to 

Mend.” By Charles Reade... 20 

236 Which Shalflt Be? Mrs. Alex- 

ander 20 

237 Repented at Leisure. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 15 

238 Pascarel. By “Ouida” 20 

239 Signa. By “ Ouida ” 20 

240 Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother. By 

L. B. Walford 10 

242 The Two Orphans. ByD’Ennery 10 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” First 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Second 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

244 A Great Mistake. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 20 

245 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat. By Miss Mulock 10 

246 A Fatal Dower. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 10 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices. By 

Charlotte M. Youge 10 

248 The House on the Marsh. F. 

Warden 10 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

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250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

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251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 

Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
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252 A Sinless Secret. By “ Rita”.. 10 

253 The Amazon By Carl Vosmaer 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair but 

False. By the author of 
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255 The Mystery. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood IS 

256 Mr. Smith: A Part of His Life. 

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257 Beyond Recall. By Adeline Ser- . 

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258 Cousins. By L. B. Walford.. .. 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. (A 

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Dumas 10 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 A Fair Maid. By F. W. ltobinson 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part I By Alexander Dumas 20 

263 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part II. By Alexander Dumas 20 
263 An Ishmaeiite. By Miss M. E. 


Braddon 15 

264 Piddouche, A French Detective. 

By FortunA Du Boisgobey 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures. 

By William Black 15 

266 The Water-Babies. A Fairy Tale 

for a Laud-Baby. By the Rev. 
Charles Kingsley 10 

267 Laurel Vane; or. The Girls’ 

Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser's Treasure. By Mrs. 
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269 Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part I. 

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270 The Wandering Jew. Part II. 

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271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part I. 

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271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part II. 

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272 The Little Savage. By Captain 

Marry at 10 

273 Love and Mirage ; or, The Wait- 

ing on an Island. By M. 
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274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 
and Letters 10 

275 The Three Brides. Charlotte M. 

Youge 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 

Florence Marryat (Mrs. Fran- 
cis Lean) 10 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 

Mrs. Henry Wood. A Man of 
His Word. By W. E. Norris. 10 

278 For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 

279 Little Goldie. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 

den 20 


280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 

282 Donal Grant. By George Mac- 

Donald 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 
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285 The Gambler’s Wife 2G 

286 Deldee ; or, The Iron Hand. By 

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287 At War With Herself. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight. Djr 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 
2S9 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. By a “ Brutal 


Saxon ” 10 

290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

291 Love’s Warfare. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

292 A Golden Heart. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

294 Hilda. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne”.. 10 

295 A Woman’s War.' By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “Dora Thorne” 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

298 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 

ret Veley 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea. By the author 
of “Dora Thorne” 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
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301 Dark Days. B} r Hugh Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

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303 Iugledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By the author 
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304 In Cupid’s Net. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lad} r Gwen- 

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306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

Day. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
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308 Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. Bj 1- J. Feni- 

inore Cooper 20 

310 The Prairie. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper, 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

312 A Week in Killaruey. By “ The 

Duchess” 1® 

313 The Lover’s Creed. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 15 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 30 

316 Sworn to Silence ; or. Aline Rod- 

ney’s Secret. By Mrs. Alex. 
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319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

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820 A Bit of Human Nature. By 

David Christie Murray 10 

321 The Prodigals: And Their In- 

heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

823 A Willful Maid 20 

324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

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826 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. By 
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827 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 

the German of E. Werner.) 

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828 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

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330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

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831 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price.. 20 

832 Judith Wynne. A Novel 20 

833 Frank Fairlegh ; or, Scenes 

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836 Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

837 Memoirs and Resolutions of 

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838 The Family Difficulty. By Sarah 

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340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

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341 Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 

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S42 The Baby, and One New Year’s 
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844 “ The Wearing of the Green.” 

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845 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant.... 20 

846 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

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847 As Avon Flows. By Ilenry Scott 

Vince 20 


^rom Post to Finish. A Racing 
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350 Diana of the Crossways. By 

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351 The House on the Moor. By 

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352 At Any Cost. By Edward Gar- 

rett 10 

353 The Black Dwarf, and A Leg- 

end of Montrose. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 

355 That Terrible Man. By W. E. 

Norris. The Princess Dago- 
mar of Poland. By Heinrich 


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356 A Good Hater. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

357 John. A Love Story. By Mrs. 

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358 Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 

wick Harwood 20 

359 The Water-Witch. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 

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361 The Red Rover. A Tale of the 

Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

362 The Bride of Lammermoor. 

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363 The Surgeon’s Daughter. By 

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364 Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 10 

365 George Christy; or, The Fort- 

unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 
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366 The Mysterious Hunter; or, 

The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton.. 20 

367 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20 

368 The Southern Star ; or. The Dia- 

mond Land. By Jules Verne 20 

369 Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 

phry Ward 10 

370 LucyCrofton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

371 Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant go 

372 Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 

thor of “ His Wedded Wife ”. 10 

373 Wing-and-Wmg. J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 


374 The Dead Man’s Secret ; or, The 

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dent. By Dr. Jupiter Paeon.. 20 

375 A Ride to Khiva. By Capt. Fred 

Burnaby, of the Royal Horse 


Guards 20 

376 The Crime of Christmas-Day. 

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377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story 

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380 Wyandotte; or. The Hutted 

Knoll. J. Fenimore Cooper.. 20 

381 The Bed Cardinal. By Frances 

Elliot 10 

382 Three Sisters; or, Sketches of 

a Highly Original Family. 

By Elsa D’Esterre-Keeling. . . 10 

383 Introduced to Society. By Ham- 

ilton Aid6 10 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor. Capt. Fred Burnaby. 20 

385 The Headsman; or, TheAbbaye 

des Vignerons. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 20 

386 Led Astray ; or, “La Petite Comt- 

esse.” By Octave Feuillet. .. 10 

387 The Secret of the Cliffs. By 

Charlotte French 20 

388 Addie’s Husband; or, Through 

Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of “Love or Lands?” 

389 Ichabod. By Bertha Thomas... 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “ The 

Duchess ” 

391 The Heart of Mid-Lothian. By 

Sir Walter Scott 

392 Peveril of the Peak. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 

393 The Pirate. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

394 The Bravo. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire. By 

Jules Verne 10 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey .. 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or, The Leaguer 

of Boston. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. 

By Robert Buchanan 10 

399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee.. 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

401 Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

402 Lilliesleaf; or. Passages in the 

Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
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403 An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 

ridge 20 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ”. 10 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

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406 The Merchant’s Clerk. By Sam- 

uel Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

409 Roy’s Wife. By G. J. Whyte- 

Melville 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

pbant 10 


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419 


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431 

432 

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435 

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A Bitter Atonement. By Char- 
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Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 20 
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Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 
“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

The Ways of the Hour. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

Jack Tier; or, The Florida Reef. 

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Valentine's Day. By Sir Wal- 
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St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir Wal- 
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page Manuscripts. By J. 

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Sataustoe; or, The Littlepage 
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Precaution. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
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Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 
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The Remarkable History of Sir 
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Zero : A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

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A Bitter Reckoning. By the 
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My Sister Kate. By Charlotte 
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Wvllard’s Weird. By Miss M. 

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Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg 
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Stella. By Fanny Lewald .20 

Life and Adventures of Martin 
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439 Great Expectations. By Clias. 

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440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings. By 

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441 A Sea Change. By Flora L. 

Shaw 20 

442 Rauthorpe. By George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 The Bachelor of The Albany. . . 10 

444 The Heart of Jane Warner. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

445 The Shadow of a Crime. By 

Hall Caine 20 

446 Dame Durden. Bj r “ Rita ” 20 

447 American Notes. By Charles 

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448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c. By Clias. 
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449 Peeress and Player. By Flor- 

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450 Godfrey Helstone. ByGeorgiana 

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451 Market Harborough, and Inside 

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452 In the West Countrie. By May 

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453 The Lottery Ticket. By F. Du 

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454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood. 

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455 Lazarus in Loudon. By F. W. 

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456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative of 

Every-day Life and Everv-day 
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457 The Russians at the Gates of 

Herat. By Charles Marvin. .. 10 

458 A Week of Passion ; or, The Di- 

lemma of Mr. George Barton 
the Younger. By Edward Jen- 
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459 A Woman's Temptation. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
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460 Under a Shadow. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
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461 His Wedded Wife. By author 

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462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 

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463 Redgauntlet. By Sir Walter 

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465 The Earl’s Atonement. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
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466 Between Two Loves. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
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467 A Struggle for a Ring. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
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468 The Fortunes, Good and Bad, 

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469 Lady Damer’s Secret. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
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470 Evelyn’s Folly. By Charlotte 

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471 Thrown on the World. By Char- 

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472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 

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473 A Lost Son. By Mary Linskill. 10 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel. 

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475 The Prima Donna’s Husband. 

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476 Between Two Sins. By Char- 

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477 Affinities. A Romance of To- 

day. By Mrs. Campbell Praed. 10 

478 Diavola : or. Nobody’s Daughter 

By MissM. E. Braddon. Parti. 20 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’sDaugliter 

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479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac- 


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480 Married in Haste. By Miss M. 

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481 The House that Jack Built. By 

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482 A Vagrant Wife. By F. Warden 20 

483 Betwixt My Love and Me. By 

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484 Although He Was a Lord, and 

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485 Tinted Vapours. ByJ. Maclaren 


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487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

490 A Second Life. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 20 


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various features of metropolitan life— the places of amusement, high 
and low life among the night-hawks of Gotham, etc., are realistically 
described in this delightful story. 

No. 6.— OLD ELECTRICITY, THE LIGHTNING DETECTIVE. 

For ingenuity of plot, quick and exciting succession of dramatic incidents, 
this great stor^ has not an equal in the whole range of detective literature. 

No. 7.— THE SHADOW DETECTIVE. 

This thrilling story is a masterpiece of entrancing fiction. The wonderful 
exploits and hair-breadth escapes of a clever law-agent are all described 
in brilliant style. 

No. 8.— RED LIGHT WILL, THE RIVER DETECTIVE. 

In this splendid romance, lovers of the weird, exciting phases of life on tht 
teeming docks and wharfs of a great city, will find a mine of thrilling 
interest. 

No. 9.— IRON BURGESS, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE. 

The many sensational incidents of a detective’s life in chasing to cover the 
sharks who prey upon the revenue of the Government are all described in 
a fascinating manner. The story will hold the reader spell-bound w^*h in- 
terest from beginning to end. 


The above works are for sale by all newsdealers at 10 cents each, or 
will be sent to any address, postage paid, on receipt of 12 cents, by tir* 
publisher. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 


V. o. Box 3751. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 


ORDINARY EI>ITION. 


GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

(P.O.Box 3751.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by th-9 
publisher. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 

30 Her Dearest Foe . 20 

36 The Wooing O’t 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

532 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

1231 The Freres 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

1721 The Executor 20 

1934 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

13 A Princess of Thule 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton 10 

51 Kilmeny 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


§8 The Monarch of Mincing Lane 10 

79 Madcap Violet (small type) 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type) 20 

242 The Three Feathers 10 

890 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

568 Green Pastures and Piccadilly 10 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith 10 

950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times 20 

1025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols 10 

1264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. -A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Sliandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
ures 20 

MISS M. E. BRA.DDON’S WORKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Lovels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love. 20 

322 Dead-Sea Fruit 20 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

469 Rupert Godwin 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBR ARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


481 Vixen 20 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

500 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marclimont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

G41 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddoo) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite. . 20 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 2ft 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

8 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

896 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

311 The Professor. 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


329 Wuthering Heights 10 

488 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life 10 

552 Love at Saratoga 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls. 20 

1019 His First Love 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

1192 Vendetta; or. The Southern Heiress 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

1310 Married for Money (illustrated ) * 20 

1829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine ; or, Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek - 20 

76 The New Magdalen 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies . 10 

250 No Name . 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story 10 

487 4 Rogue’s Life 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


551 The Yellow Mask 10 

583 Pullen Leaves . ■ 20 

654 Poor Miss Finch 20 

675 The Moonstone , 20 

696 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love 10 

721 Basil . . 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

905 Duel in Herne Wood 10 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The Black Robe . 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shot 10 

1856 “I Say No” ..... 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WORKS. 

222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer. 20 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The Pioneers 20 

231 The Prairie 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water- Witch 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing-and-Wing 20 

940 The Spy. . , 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afloat and Ashore 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye des Yignerons 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or, The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine . 20 

1691 The Crater, or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific, ... 20 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

100 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

102 Hard Times 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


118 Great Expectations 20 

187 David Copperfield 20 

200 Nicholas Nickleby 20 

218 Barnaby Rudge 20 

218 Dombey and Son 20 

239 No Thoroughfare (Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins) 10 

247 Martin Chuazlewit 20 

272 The Cricket on the Hearth 10 

284 Oliver Twist 20 

289 A Christinas Carol 10 

297 The Haunted Man 10 

304 Little Dorrit 20 

308 The Chimes 10 

317 The Battle of Life 10 

325 Our Mutual Friend 20 

337 Bleak House 20 

352 Pickwick Papers 20 

359 Somebody's Luggage 10 

367 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 10 

372 Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices 10 

375 Mugby Junction 10 

403 Tom Tiddler’s Ground 10 

498 The Uncommercial Traveler 20 

521 Master Humphrey’s Clock 10 

625 Sketches by Boz 20 

639 Sketches of Young Couples 10 

827 The Mudfog Papers, &c 10 

860 The Mystery of Edwin Drood 20 

900 Pictures From Italy 10 

1411 A Child’s History of England 20 

1464 The Picnic Papers. 20 

1558 Three Detective Anecdotes, and Other Sketches 10 

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF “ DORA THORNE.” 

449 More Bitter than Death 10 

618 Madolin’s Lover 20 

656 A Golden Dawn 10 

678 A Dead Heart 10 

718 Lord Lynne’s Choice; or, True Love Never Runs Smooth. 10 

746 Which Loved PI im Best 20 

846 Dora Thorne 20 

921 At War with Herself 10 


THE bE ASIDE LTBEAR T. — vratn&ry fixtmon. 


981 The Sin of a Lifetime ........... at 

1013 Lady Gwendoline's Dream . . ...... . ........ . . 10 

i0i6 Wife in Name Only ............ .. . .» . 2C 

1044 Like No Otner Love ............. 10 

1060 A Woman’s War 10 

1072 Hilary’s Folly 10 

1074 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

1077 A Gilded Sio 10 

1081 A Bridge of Love.. 16 

1085 The Fatal Lilies 10 

1099 Wedded and Parted . 10 

1107 A Bride From the bea. ........... < . .. .. .. .......... .. 10 

1110 A Rose in Thorns .......... ...... „ . 10 

1115 The Shadow of a Sm. ..... c = 10 

1122 Redeemed by Love . . ................. . 10 

1126 The Story of a Wedding-Ring. 10 

1127 Love’s Warfare 20 

1132 Repented at Leisure 20 

1179 From Gloom to Sunlight. 20 

1209 Hilda 20 

1218 A Golden Heart . 20 

1266 Ingledew House .................... 10 

1288 A Broken Wedding-Ring ........................... . 20 

1305 Love For a Day; or, tinder the Lilacs. ... .......... ..... . 10 

1357 Tne Wife’s Secret 10 

1393 Two Kisses o . 10 

1460 Between Two Sins. .................. .... - 10 

1640 The Cost of Her Love „ ...... . 20 

1664 Romance of a Black Veil. . . . . ......................... ., 20 

1704 Her Mother’s Sin 0 - 20 

1761 Thorns and Orange Blossoms 20 

1844 Fair but False, and The Heiress of Arae ................. 10 

1883 Sunshine and Roses 20 

1906 In Cupid’s Net 10 

ALEXANDER DUMAS' WORKS. 

144 'The Twin Lieutenants. ........ 10 

151 The Russian Gipsy 10 

155 The Count of Monte-Cristo \ ifompkte m One Volume), ... 20 

160 The Black Tulip....... ...... 10 

167 The Queens Necklace, ,-s-. ... . 20 


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dresses with the aid of Munro’s Bazar Patterns. These are carefully cut to 
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The Bazar Embroidery Supplements form an important part of the magazine. 
Fancy work is carefully described and illustrated, and new patterns given in 
every number. 

All household matters are fully and interestingly treated. Home informa- 
tion, decoration, personal gossip, correspondence, and recipes for cooking have 
each a department. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, “ The Duchess,” author 
of “Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comport, Charlotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, Mary E. Bryan, author of 
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solely due to the 
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THE SEASIDE LIBRAR’ 

(POCKET EDITION.) 

LATEST ISSUES. 

453 The Lottery Ticket. By F. Du Bois- 

gobey 

454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood. By 

Charles Dickens 

455 Lazarus in London. By F. W. Rob- 

inson 

456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative of 

Every-day Life and Every-day Peo- 
ple. By Charles Dickens 

457 The Russians at the Gates of Herat. 

By Charles Marvin 

458 A Week of Passion; or, The Dilemma 

of Mr. George Barton the Younger. 
By Edward Jenkins 

459 A Woman’s Temptation, By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 

460 Under a Shadow. Bv Charlotte M. 

Braeme, author of “ Dora Thorne ” 

461 His Wedded Wife. By the author of 

“ Ladybird’s Penitence ” 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. 

m By Lewis Carroll. With forty -two 
\ illustrations by John Tenniel 

463 Redgauntlet. A Tale of the Eight- 

eenth Century. By Sir Walter Scott 


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